ity of California 
 hern Regional 
 rary Facility 
 
 STEELE-MACKAYE
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE PANCHRONICON
 
 THE 
 
 PANCHRONICON 
 
 BY 
 
 HAROLD STEELE MACKAYE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 1904
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY 
 CHAKLES SCKIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published, April, 1904
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP . . l 
 
 II. A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON . .23 
 
 III. A NOCTURNAL EVASION 38 
 
 IV. A CHANGE OF PLAN 58 
 
 V. DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE . . .86 
 
 VI. SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME . . 103 
 VII. NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS . . .123 
 VIII. How FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAIL 
 IFFS. .... ... 157 
 
 IX. PHOSBE AT THE PEACOCK INN . . . .179 
 
 X. How THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER . 208 
 
 XI. THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD . 242 
 
 XII. How SHAKESPEARE WROTE His PLAYS . 258 
 
 XIII. How THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE . . 277 
 
 XIV. THE FATE OF SIR PERCEVALL'S SUIT . . 297 
 XV. How REBECCA RETURNED TO NEWINGTON . 317 
 
 XVI. How SIR GUY KEPT His TRYST . . .324 
 XVII. REBECCA'S TRUMP CARD . 340 
 
 1521 436
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 THE two sisters were together in their garden. 
 
 Rebecca Wise, turned forty and growing slightly 
 gray at the temples, was moving slowly from one of 
 her precious plants to the next, leaning over each to 
 pinch off a dead leaf or count the buds. It was the 
 historic month of May, 1898, and May is the paradise 
 of flower lovers. 
 
 Phoebe was eighteen years younger than her sister, 
 and the beauty of the village. Indeed, many declared 
 their belief that the whole State of New Hampshire 
 did not contain her equal. 
 
 She was seated on the steps of the veranda that 
 skirted the little white cottage, and the absent gaze 
 of her frank blue eyes was directed through the gate 
 at the foot of the little path bordered by white rose 
 bushes. In her lap was a bundle of papers yellowed 
 by age and an ivory miniature, evidently taken from 
 the carved wooden box at her side. 
 
 Presently Rebecca straightened her back with a 
 slight grimace and looked toward her sister, holding 
 
 1
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 her mold-covered hands and fingers spread away from 
 her. 
 
 "Well," she inquired, "hev ye found anythin'?" 
 
 Phoebe brought her gaze back from infinity and 
 replied: 
 
 "No, I ain't. Only that one letter where Isaac 
 Burton writes her that the players have come to 
 town." 
 
 "I don't see what good them letters'll do ye in the 
 Shakespeare class, then." 
 
 Rebecca spoke listlessly more interested in her 
 garden than in her sister's search. 
 
 "I don't know," Phoebe rejoined, dreamily. "It's 
 awful funny but whenever I take out these old 
 letters there comes over me the feelin' that I'm 'way 
 off in a strange country and I feel like somebody 
 else." 
 
 Rebecca looked up anxiously from her work. 
 
 "Them sort o' philanderin' notions are foolish, 
 Phoebe," she said, and flicked a caterpillar over the 
 fence. 
 
 Phoebe gave herself a little shake and began to tie 
 up the papers. 
 
 "That's so," she replied. "But they will come 
 when I get these out, an' I got 'em out thinkin^ the' 
 might be somethin' about Shakespeare in 'em for our 
 class." 
 
 She paused and looked wistfully at the letters 
 again. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried, "how I do wonder if he was 
 2
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 among those players at the Peacock Inn that day! 
 You know 'players' is what they called play-actors 
 in those days, and he was a play-actor, they say." 
 
 "Did he live very far back, then?" said Rebecca, 
 wishing to appear interested, but really intent upon 
 a new sprout at the foot of the lilac-bush. 
 
 "Yes, three hundred years ago. Three of these 
 letters has a date in 1598 exactly." 
 
 There was a long silence, and at length Rebecca 
 looked up from the ground to ascertain its cause. 
 She frowned and drew her aching back stiffly straight 
 again. 
 
 "Everlastin'ly lookin' at that pictur'!" she ex 
 claimed. "I declare to goodness, Phoebe Wise, folks'll 
 think you're vain as a pouter pigeon." 
 
 Phosbe laughed merrily, tossed the letters into the 
 box and leaped to her feet. The miniature at which 
 she had been gazing was still in her hands. 
 
 "Folks'll never see me lookin' at it, Rebecca only 
 you," she said. 
 
 Then with a coaxing tone and looking with appeal 
 ing archness at her sister, she went on: 
 
 "Is it really like me, Rebecca ? Honest true ?" 
 
 The elder woman merely grunted and moved on 
 to the next bed, and Phoebe, with another laugh, ran 
 lightly into the house. 
 
 A few moments later she reappeared at the front 
 door with consternation on her face. 
 
 "Land o' goodness, Rebecca!" she cried, "do you 
 know what time it is? Near onto one o'clock, an' 
 
 3
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 I've got to be at the Shakespeare class at half past. 
 We'll have to dish up dinner right this minute, and 
 I don't see how I can change my dress after it an' 
 help with the dishes too." 
 
 She whisked into the house again, and Rebecca fol 
 lowed her as rapidly as possible. 
 
 She was very proud of her baby sister, proud of 
 her having been "clear through high school/' and 
 proud of her eminence in the local literary society. 
 There was certainly something inspiring in having 
 a sister who was first corresponding secretary of the 
 Women's Peltonville Association for the Study of 
 Shakespearian History and Literature; and it was 
 simply wonderful how much poetry she could repeat 
 from the pages of her favorite author. 
 
 Peltonville Center, New Hampshire, was one of 
 those groups of neatly kept houses surrounding a 
 prettily shaded, triangular common which seem to be 
 characteristic of New England. Standing two miles 
 from the nearest railway station, this little settlement 
 possessed its own combined store and post-office, from 
 whose narrow veranda one might watch the rising 
 generation playing Saturday base-ball on the grassy 
 triangle. 
 
 The traditional old meeting-house stood on the op 
 posite side of the common, facing the store. The 
 good old days of brimstone theology were past, and 
 the descendants of the godly Puritans who raised this 
 steeple "in the fear of the Lord," being now deprived 
 
 4
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 of their chief source of fear, found Sunday meet 
 ings a bore, and a village pastor an unnecessary 
 luxury. 
 
 Indeed, there seemed little need of pastoral admoni 
 tion in such a town as Peltonville Center. There was 
 a grimly commonplace and universal goodness every 
 where, and the village was only saved from uncon 
 sciousness of its own perfection by the individual 
 shortcomings of one of its citizens. Fortunately for 
 the general self-complacence, however, the necessary 
 revealing contrast was found in him. 
 
 Copernicus Droop was overfond of the bottle, and 
 in spite of the prohibition laws of his State, he proved 
 himself a blessed example and warning by a too fre 
 quent and unmistakable intoxication in public. He 
 was gentle and even apologetic in his cups, but he was 
 clearly a "slave of rum" and his mission was there 
 fore fulfilled. 
 
 On this first of May, 1898, a number of idle young 
 men sat in a row on the edge of the store veranda. 
 Some were whittling, some making aimless marks in 
 the dust with a stick. All leaned limply forward, 
 with their elbows on their knees. 
 
 It was clearly not a Sunday, for the meeting-house 
 was open, and from time to time, one or perhaps two 
 young women together passed into the cool and silent 
 room. The loungers at the store let none escape their 
 notice, and the name of each damsel was passed down 
 the line in an undertone as its owner entered the 
 church. 
 
 5
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 A lantern-jawed young farmer at the end of the 
 row slowly brushed the shavings from his clothes and 
 remarked : 
 
 "Thet's the secon' meetin' of the Shekspeare class 
 this month, ain't it?" 
 
 "Yep, an' there'll be two more afore the summer 
 boarders comes up " 
 
 The second speaker would have continued, but he 
 was here interrupted by a third, who whispered 
 loudly : 
 
 "Say, fellers, there goes Copernicus." 
 
 All eyes were raised and unanimously followed the 
 shabby figure which had just emerged from behind 
 the church and now started into the road leading 
 away from the common toward the north. 
 
 "Walks pretty straight fer him, don't he?" snick 
 ered the first speaker. 
 
 "He's not ben tight fer two days." 
 
 "Bet ye a jack-knife he'll be spreein' it fer all he's 
 wuth to-morrow." 
 
 Fortunately these comments did not reach the ears 
 of their object, who, all unconscious of the interest 
 which he inspired, made good his way at a fairly 
 rapid pace. 
 
 Presently he stopped. 
 
 With muslin skirts swaying, hair rumpled, and fair 
 young face flushed with exertion, Phoebe Wise was 
 hurrying toward the common. She was almost run 
 ning in her haste, for she was late and the Shake 
 speare class was a momentous institution. 
 
 6
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 "Oh, say, Cousin Phoebe," was the man's greeting, 
 "can you tell me ef yer sister's to home?" 
 
 The young girl came to a sudden full stop in her 
 surprise. This cousinly greeting from the village 
 reprobate was as exciting and as inexplicable as it was 
 unheard of. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Droop!" she exclaimed, "I I I 
 s'pose so." 
 
 The truth was the truth, after all. But it was 
 hard on Kebecca. What could this man want with 
 her sister? 
 
 Droop nodded and passed on. 
 
 "Thank ye. Don't stop fer me," he said. 
 
 Phrebe moved forward slowly, watching Copernicus 
 over her shoulder. She noted his steady steps and 
 pale face and, reassured, resumed her flying progress 
 with redoubled vigor. After all, Kebecca was forty- 
 two years old and well able to take care of herself. 
 
 Meanwhile, Rebecca Wise, having carefully wrung 
 out her dishcloth, poured out the water and swept the 
 little sink, was slowly untying her kitchen apron, full 
 of a thankful sense of the quiet hour before her 
 wherein to knit and muse beside the front window of 
 her little parlor. 
 
 In the centre of this room there stood a wide, round 
 table, bearing a large kerosene-lamp and the week's 
 mending. At the back and opposite the two win 
 dows stood the well-blacked, shiny, air-tight stove. 
 Above this was a wooden mantel, painted to imitate 
 marble, whereon were deposited two photographs, 
 
 7
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 four curious Chinese shells, and a plaster cross to 
 which there clung a very plaster young woman in 
 scant attire, the whole being marked "Rock of Ages" 
 in gilt letters at the base. 
 
 Horse-hair furniture in all the glory of endless 
 "tidies" was arranged against walls bedight with 
 a rainbow-like wilderness of morning-glories. The 
 ceiling was of white plaster, and the floor was painted 
 white and decked here and there with knitted rag- 
 carpets, on whose Joseph's-coated surfaces Rebecca 
 loved to gaze when in retrospective mood. In those 
 humble floor-coverings her knowing eyes recognized 
 her first clocked stockings and Phoebe's baby cloak. 
 There was her brother Robert's wool tippet em 
 balmed in loving loops with the remnants of his wife's 
 best Sunday-go-to-meetin' ribbons. These two had 
 long been dead, but their sister's loving eyes recre 
 ated them in rag-carpet dreams wherein she lived 
 again those by-gone days. 
 
 Rebecca had just seated herself and was unrolling 
 her work, when her eyes caught a glimpse of a man's 
 form through the window. He had passed into her 
 gate and was approaching the door. She leaned for 
 ward for a good look and then dropped back into her 
 chair with a gasp of surprise. 
 
 "Copernicus Droop!" she exclaimed, "did you ever!" 
 
 She sat in rigid astonishment until she heard his 
 timid knock, followed by the sound of shoes vigor 
 ously wiped upon the door-mat. 
 
 "Well, come! Thet's a comfort!" she thought. 
 8
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 "He won't muss the carpet" and she rose to admit 
 her visitor. 
 
 "Good mornin'," said Droop, timidly. "I seen 
 Cousin Phoebe a-runnin' down the road, an' I sorter 
 thought I'd run in an' see how you was." 
 
 "Come right in," said Kebecca, in non-committal 
 tones. She shut the door and followed him into the 
 parlor. 
 
 "Here, give me yer hat," she continued. "Set 
 right there. How be ye ?" 
 
 Droop obeyed. In a few moments the two were 
 seated facing each other, and Rebecca's needles were 
 already busy. There was an interval of awkward 
 silence. 
 
 "Well, what did ye come fer?" 
 
 It was Rebecca who broke the spell. In her usual 
 downright fashion, she came to the point at once. 
 She thought it as well he should know that she was 
 not deceived by his polite pretence of casual friendly 
 interest. 
 
 Droop settled forward with elbows on his knees and 
 brought his finger-tips carefully and accurately to 
 gether. He found this action amazingly promotive 
 of verbal accuracy. 
 
 "Well, Cousin Rebecca," he began, slowly, "I'm 
 lookin' fer a partner." He paused, considering how 
 to proceed. 
 
 The spinster let her hands drop in speechless won 
 der. The audacity of the man! He to her a pro 
 posal! At her age! From him! 
 
 9
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Fortunately the next few words disclosed her 
 error, and she blushed for it as she lifted her work 
 again, turning nearer the window as if for better 
 light. 
 
 "Yes," Droop proceeded, "I've a little business 
 plan, an' it needs capital an' a partner." 
 
 He waited, but there was no response. 
 
 "Capital an' a partner," he repeated, "an' intelli 
 gence an' ambition. So I come to you." 
 
 Rebecca turned toward him again, scarcely less 
 surprised now than before. 
 
 "To me ! D'ye mean to say ye've me in yer mind 
 fer a partner with capital?" 
 
 Droop nodded slowly and compressed his lips. 
 
 "Well, I want to know!" she exclaimed, helplessly. 
 
 "Oh, I know you ain't overly rich right now," 
 said Droop, apologetically; "but it warn't no secret 
 thet ye might hev hed Joe Chandler ef ye hadn't ben 
 so shifty in yer mind an' fell betwixt two stools an' 
 Lord knows Joe Chandler was as rich as as Peter 
 Craigin down to Keene pretty nigh." 
 
 Again Rebecca blushed, but this time in anger. 
 
 "See here, Copernicus Droop " she began. 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean nothin' mean, now," he insisted, 
 earnestly. "I'm jest leadin' up to the pint sorter 
 natural like breakin' the thing easy, ye know." 
 
 "What air you a-drivin' at?" 
 
 Droop shifted uneasily in his seat and ran his finger 
 around inside of his collar before he replied: 
 
 "Ye see, it's sorter hard to explain. It's this way. 
 10
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 I hev a mighty fine plan in my mind founded on a 
 mixin' up of astronomical considerations with prior 
 inventions ' ' 
 
 "Mister Droop!" exclaimed his hostess, gazing se 
 verely into his eyes, "ef you think I'll let you go to 
 drinkin' rum till " 
 
 "Honest to goodness, Miss Wise, I've not teched a 
 drop!" cried Droop, leaping to his feet and leaning 
 forward quickly. "You may smell my breath ef " 
 
 A violent push sent him back to his chair. 
 
 "Thet'll do, Mr. Droop. I'll undertake to believe 
 ye fer once, but I'll thank ye to speak plain English." 
 
 "I'll do my best," he sighed, plaintively. "I don't 
 blame ye fer not takin' to it quick. I didn't myself 
 at first. Well here. Ye see ye know " 
 
 He paused and swallowed hard, gazing at the ceil 
 ing for inspiration. Then he burst out suddenly: 
 
 "Ye know the graphophone an' the kodak and the 
 biograph an' all them things what ye can see down 
 to Keene?" 
 
 Rebecca nodded slowly, with suspicion still in her 
 eye. 
 
 "Well, the's a heap o' things ben invented since 
 the Centennial of 1876. Don't you s'pose they've 
 made hills o' money out o' them things with patents 
 an' all?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "An' don't you s'pose that ef anybody in 1876 was 
 to up an' bring out sech inventions all at once he'd 
 be bigger than all the other inventors put together!" 
 
 11
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Rebecca slowly pushed her needle through her 
 hair, which was a sign of thoughtfulness. 
 
 "Wai, o' course," she said, at length, "ef anybody 
 hed aben smart enough to've invented all them things 
 in 1876 he'd aben a pretty big man, I guess." 
 
 Droop edged forward eagerly. 
 
 "An' s'posen' that you hed married Joe Chandler 
 back in 1876, an' you was rich enough to back up 
 an inventor like that, an' he come to you an' offered 
 to give you half ef you'd up an' help him put 'em on 
 the market, an' s'posen' " 
 
 "What the land sake's the use o' s'posin'?" Re 
 becca cried, sharply. "This is 1898, an' I ain't mar 
 ried, thanks be to goodness!" 
 
 "Ah, but ye could be, ef we was in 1876! There, 
 there I know what you want to say but 'taint so! 
 What would ye say ef I was to tell ye that all ye've 
 got to do is jest to get into a machine I've got an' I 
 can take ye back to 1876 in next to no time! What 
 would ye say " 
 
 "I'd say ye was tighter'n a boiled owl, Copernicus 
 Droop." 
 
 "But I ain't, I ain't!" he almost screamed. "I tell 
 ye I hevn't teched liquor fer two days. I've re 
 formed. Ef ye won't smell my breath " 
 
 "Then you're plum crazy," she interrupted. 
 
 "No, nor crazy either," he insisted. "Why, the 
 whole principle of it is so awful simple! Ef you'd 
 ben to high school, now, an' knew astronomy an' all, 
 you'd see right through it like nothin'." 
 
 12
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 "Well, then, you c'n explain it to them as hez ben 
 to high school, an' that's sister Phoebe. Here she 
 comes now." 
 
 She went at once to the door to admit the new 
 comer. Her visitor, watching the pretty younger 
 sister as she stepped in, rosy and full of life, could not 
 but remark the contrast between the two women. 
 
 "Twenty-two years makes a heap o' difference!" 
 he muttered. "But Kebecca was jest as pretty her 
 self, back in 1876." 
 
 "Look, Kebecca!" cried Phoebe, as she entered the 
 door, "here's a new book Mrs. Bolton lent me to-day. 
 All about Bacon writing Shakespeare's plays, an' how 
 Bacon was a son of Queen Elizabeth. Do you s'pose 
 he really did?" 
 
 "Oh, don't ask me, child!" was the nervous reply. 
 "Mr. Droop's in the parlor." 
 
 Phoebe had forgotten her short interview with 
 Droop, and she now snatched off her hat in surprise 
 and followed her elder sister, nodding to their visitor 
 as she entered. 
 
 "Set down, both o' ye," said Eebecca. "Now, 
 then, Mr. Droop, perhaps you'll explain." 
 
 Rebecca was far more mystified and interested 
 than she cared to admit. Her brusque manner was 
 therefore much exaggerated a dissimulation which 
 troubled her conscience, which was decidedly of the 
 tenderest New England brand. 
 
 Poor Copernicus experienced a sense of relief as 
 he turned his eyes to those of the younger sister. She 
 
 13
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 felt that Rebecca's manner was distinctly cold, and 
 her own expression was the more cordial in compen 
 sation. 
 
 "Why, Miss Phoebe," he said, eagerly, "I've ben 
 tellin' your sister about my plan to go back to the 
 Centennial year 1876, ye know." 
 
 "To to what, Mr. Droop?" 
 
 Phoebe's polite cordiality gave place to amazed con 
 sternation. Droop raised a deprecating hand. 
 
 "Now don't you go to think I'm tight or gone 
 crazy. You'll understand it, fer you've ben to high 
 school. Now see! What is it makes the days go 
 by ain't it the daily revolution of the sun?" 
 
 Phoebe put on what her sister always called "that 
 schoolmarm look" and replied: 
 
 "Why, it's the turning round of the earth on its 
 axis once in " 
 
 "Yes yes It's all one all one," Droop broke 
 in, eagerly. "To put it another way, it comes from 
 the sun cuttin' meridians, don't it?" 
 
 Rebecca, who found this technical and figurative 
 expression beyond her, paused in her knitting and 
 looked anxiously at Phoebe, to see how she would take 
 it. After a moment of thought, the young woman 
 admitted her visitor's premises. 
 
 "Very good! An' you know 's well 's I do, Miss 
 Phoebe, that ef a man travels round the world the 
 same way 's the sun, he ketches up on time a whole 
 day when he gets all the way round. In other words, 
 the folks that stays at home lives jest one day more 
 
 14
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 than the feller that goes round the world that way. 
 Am I right?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 Droop glanced triumphantly at Rebecca. This tre 
 mendous admission on her learned young sister's part 
 stripped her of all pretended coldness. Her deep 
 interest was evident now in her whole pose and ex 
 pression. 
 
 "Now, then, jest follow me close," Droop contin 
 ued, sitting far forward in his chair and pointing his 
 speech with a thin forefinger on his open palm. 
 
 "Ef a feller was to whirl clear round the world an' 
 cut all the meridians in the same direction as the sun, 
 an' he made the whole trip around jest as quick as 
 the sun did time wouldn't change a mite fer him, 
 would it?" 
 
 Phoebe gasped at the suggestion. 
 
 "Why, I should think of course " 
 
 She stopped and put her hand to her head in be 
 wilderment. 
 
 "Et's a sure thing!" Droop exclaimed, earnestly. 
 "You've said yerself that the folks who stayed to 
 home would live one day longer than the fellow that 
 went round. Now, ef that feller travelled round as 
 fast as the sun, the stay-at-homes would only be one 
 day older by the time he got back ain't that a fact?" 
 
 Both sisters nodded. 
 
 "Well, an' the traveller would be one day younger 
 than they'd be. An' ain't that jest no older at all 
 than when he started?" 
 
 15
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "My goodness! Mr. Droop!" Phoebe replied > 
 feebly. "I never thought of that." 
 
 "Well, ain't it so?" 
 
 "Of course leastways why, it must be!" 
 
 "All right, then!" 
 
 Droop rose triumphantly to his feet, overcome by 
 his feelings. 
 
 "Follow out that same reasonin' to the bitter end!" 
 he cried, "an' what will happen ef that traveller 
 whirls round, cuttin' meridians jest twice as fast as 
 the sun goin' the same way?" 
 
 He paused, but there was no reply. 
 
 "Why, as sure as shootin', I tell ye, that feller will 
 get jest one day younger fer every two whirls round!" 
 
 There was a long and momentous silence. The 
 tremendous suggestion had for the moment bereft 
 both women of all reasoning faculty. 
 
 At length the younger sister ventured upon a prac 
 tical objection. 
 
 "But how's he goin' to whirl round as fast as that, 
 Mr. Droop?" she said. 
 
 Droop smiled indulgently. 
 
 "Et does sound outlandish, when ye think how big 
 the world is. But what if ye go to the North Pole? 
 Ain't all the twenty-four meridians jammed up close 
 together round that part of the globe?" 
 
 "Thet's so," murmured Rebecca, "I've seen it 
 many's the time on the map in Phoebe's geography 
 book." 
 
 "Sure enough," Droop rejoined. "Then ain't it 
 16
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 clear that ef a feller'll jest take a grip on the North 
 Pole an' go whirlin' round it, he'll be cuttin' me 
 ridians as fast as a hay-chopper? Won't he see the 
 sun gettin' left behind an' whirlin' the other way 
 from what it does in nature ? An' ef the sun goes the 
 other way round, ain't it sure to unwind all the time 
 thet it's ben a-rollin' up?" 
 
 Kebecca's ball of yarn fell from her lap at this, 
 and, as she followed it with her eyes, she seemed to 
 see a practical demonstration of Droop's marvellous 
 theory. 
 
 Phoebe felt all the tremendous force of Droop's 
 logic, and she flushed with excitement. One last 
 practical objection was obvious, however. 
 
 "The thing must be all right, Mr. Droop," she 
 said ; "an' come to think of it, this must be the reason 
 so many folks have tried to reach the North Pole. 
 But it never has been reached yet, an' how are you 
 a-goin' to do it?" 
 
 "You think it never hez," Copernicus replied. 
 "The fact is, though, that I've ben there." 
 
 "You!" Phoebe cried. 
 
 "And is there a pole there?" Rebecca asked, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "The's a pole there, an' I've swung round it, too," 
 Droop replied, sitting again with a new and delightful 
 sense of no longer being unwelcome. 
 
 "Here's how 'twas. About a year ago there come 
 to my back door a strange-lookin' man who'd hurt his 
 foot some way. I took him in an' fixed him up 
 
 17
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 you know I studied for a doctor once an' while he 
 was bein' fixed up, he sorter took a fancy to me an' 
 he begun to give me the story of his life. He said he 
 was born in the year 2582, an' had ben takin' what 
 he called a historical trip into the past ages. He went 
 on at a great rate like that, an' I thought he was jest 
 wanderin' in his mind with the fever, so I humored 
 him. But he saw through me, an' he wouldn't take 
 no but I should go down into Burnham's swamp with 
 him to see how he'd done it. 
 
 "Well, down we went, and right spang in the 
 thickest of the bushes an' muck we come across the 
 queerest lookin' machine that ever ye see! 
 
 "Right there an' then he told me all the scientific 
 talk about time an' astronomy thet I've told you, an' 
 then he tuck me into the thing. Fust thing I knew 
 he give a yank to a lever in the machinery an' there 
 was a big jerk thet near threw me on the back o' my 
 head. I looked out, an' there we was a-flyin' over the 
 country through the air fer the North Pole !" 
 
 "There, now!" cried Eebecca, "didn't Si Wilkins' 
 boy Sam say he seen a comet in broad daylight last 
 Juno?" 
 
 "Thet was us," Droop admitted. 
 
 "And not a soul believed him," Pho3be remarked. 
 
 "Well," continued Droop, "to make a long story 
 short, thet future-man whirled me a few times 'round 
 the North Pole unwound jest five weeks o' time, 
 an' back we come to Peltonville a-hummin' !" 
 
 "And then?" cried the two women together. 
 18
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 "Ef you'll believe me, there we was back to the 
 day he fust come an' fust thing I knew, thet future- 
 man was a-comin' up to my back door, same ez before, 
 a-beggin' to hev his foot fixed. It was hard on him, 
 but I was convinced fer keeps." 
 
 Copernicus shook his head sadly, with retrospective 
 sadness. 
 
 "An' where is the future-man now?" Phoebe asked. 
 
 "Tuk cold on his lungs at the North Pole," said 
 Droop, solemnly. "Hed pneumonia an' up'n died." 
 
 "But there warn't nobody round heerd of him 
 except you," said Rebecca. "Who buried him?" 
 
 "Ah, thet's one o' the beauties o' the hull busi 
 ness. He'd showed me all the ropes on his machine 
 his Panchronicon, as he called it an' so I up'n 
 flew round the North Pole the opposite way as soon's 
 he passed away, till I'd made up the five weeks we'd 
 lost. Then when I got back it was five weeks after 
 his funeral, an' I didn't hev to bother about it." 
 
 The two sisters looked at each other, quite over 
 come with admiration. 
 
 "My land!" Rebecca murmured, gathering up her 
 yarn and knitting again. "Sence they've invented 
 them X-rays an' took to picturin' folks' insides, I kin 
 believe anythin'." 
 
 "You don't hev to take my word fer it," Droop 
 exclaimed. "Ef you'll come right along with me this 
 blessed minute, I'll show you the machine right 
 now." 
 
 "I'd jest love to see it," said Rebecca, her coldness 
 19
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 all forgotten, "but it's mos' too late fer this afternoon. 
 There's the supper to get, you know, an' " 
 
 "But the plan, Rebecca," Phoebe cried. "You've 
 forgotten that I haven't heard Mr. Droop's plan." 
 
 "I wish 't you'd call me 'Cousin Copernicus,' " said 
 Droop, earnestly. "You know I've sworn off quit 
 drinkin' now." 
 
 Phoebe blushed at his novel proposal and insisted 
 on the previous question. 
 
 "But what is the plan?" she said. 
 
 "Why, my idea is this, Cousin Phoebe. I want we 
 should all go back to 1876 again. Thet's the year 
 your sister could hev married Joe Chandler ef she'd 
 wanted to." 
 
 Rebecca murmured something unintelligible, blush 
 ing furiously, with her eyes riveted to her knitting. 
 Phoebe looked surprised. 
 
 "You know you could, Cousin Rebecca," Droop 
 insisted. "Now what I say is, let's go back there. 
 I'll invent the graphophone, the kodak, the vitascope, 
 an' Milliken's cough syrup an' a lot of other big mod 
 ern inventions. Rebecca'll marry Chandler, an' she 
 an' her husband can back up my big inventions with 
 capital. Why, Cousin Phoebe," he cried, with enthu 
 siasm, "we'll all hev a million apiece!" 
 
 The sentimental side of Droop's plan first monopo 
 lized Phoebe's attention. 
 
 "Rebecca Wise!" she exclaimed, turning with 
 mock severity to face her sister. "Why is it I've 
 never heard tell about this love affair before now? 
 
 20
 
 THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 
 
 Why, Joe Chandler's just a fine man. Is it you that 
 broke his heart an' made him an old bachelor all his 
 life?" 
 
 Rebecca must have dropped a stitch, for she turned 
 toward the window again and brought her knitting 
 very close to her face. 
 
 "What brought ye so early to home, Phrebe?" she 
 said. "Warn't there no Shakespeare meetin' to 
 day?" 
 
 "No. Mis' Beecher was to lead, an' she's been 
 taken sick, so I came right home. But you can't 
 sneak out of answerin' me like that, Miss Slyboots," 
 Phoebe continued, in high spirits. 
 
 Seating herself on the arm of her sister's chair, 
 she put her arms about her neck and, bending over, 
 whispered: 
 
 "Tell me honest, now, Rebecca, did Joe Chandler 
 ever propose to you?" 
 
 "No, he never did!" the elder sister exclaimed, 
 rising suddenly. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Droop," she continued, "your hull plan 
 is jest too absurd to think of " 
 
 Droop tried to expostulate, but she raised her voice, 
 speaking more quickly. 
 
 "An' you come 'round again after supper an' we'll 
 tell ye what we've decided," she concluded. 
 
 The humor of this reply was lost on Copernicus, 
 but he moved toward the door with a sense of dis 
 tinct encouragement. 
 
 "Remember the rumpus we'll make with all them 
 21
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 inventions," Droop called back as he walked toward 
 the gate, "think of the money we'll make!" 
 
 But Rebecca was thinking of something very dif 
 ferent as she stood at the front door gazing with 
 softened eyes at the pasture and woods beyond the 
 road. She seemed to see a self-willed girl breaking 
 her own heart and another's rather than acknowledge 
 a silly error. She was wondering if that had really 
 been Rebecca Wise. She felt again all the old be 
 witching heart-pangs, sweetened and mellowed by 
 time, and she wondered if she were now really Re 
 becca Wise. 
 
 22
 
 CHAPTEK H 
 
 A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 AT precisely eight o'clock that evening, a knock 
 was again heard at the door of the Wise home, and 
 Droop was admitted by the younger sister. She did 
 not speak, and her face was invisible in the dark hall. 
 The visitor turned to the right and entered the par 
 lor, followed by his young hostess. Rebecca was sit 
 ting by the lamp, sewing. As she looked up and 
 nodded, Droop saw that her features expressed only 
 gloomy severity. He turned in consternation and 
 caught sight for the first time of Phoebe's face. Her 
 eyes and pretty nose were red and her mouth was 
 drawn into a curve of plaintive rebellion. 
 
 "Set down, Mr. Droop. Give me yer hat," she 
 said ; and there was a suspicious catch in her voice. 
 
 The visitor seated himself by the centre-table be 
 side the lamp and sat slowly rubbing his hands, the 
 while he gazed mournfully from one to the other of 
 the silent sisters. Phoebe sat on the long horse-hair 
 "settle," and played moodily with the tassel hanging 
 at its head. 
 
 There was a long pause. Each of the women 
 seemed bent on forcing the other to break the silence. 
 
 23
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Poor Droop felt that his plans were doomed, and 
 he dared not urge either woman to speech, lest he 
 hear the death-sentence of his hopes. Finally, how 
 ever, the awkward silence became unbearable. 
 
 "Well?" he said, inquiringly, still rubbing his 
 hands. 
 
 "Well," Kebecca exclaimed, "it seems it's not to 
 be done," and she looked reproachfully at Phoebe. 
 
 The words fulfilled his fears, but the tone and 
 glance produced a thrill of hope. It was evident that 
 Rebecca at least favored his plans. 
 
 Turning now to the younger sister, Droop asked, 
 in a melancholy tone: 
 
 "Don't you want to get rich, Cousin Phoebe?" 
 
 "Rich me!" she replied, indignantly. "A mighty 
 lot of riches it'll bring me, won't it? That's just what 
 riles me so! You an' Rebecca just think of nothin' 
 but your own selves. You never stop to think of 
 me!" 
 
 Droop opened his eyes very wide indeed, and Re 
 becca said, earnestly: 
 
 "Phoebe, you know you ain't got any call to say 
 sech a thing!" 
 
 "Oh, haven't I?" cried Phoabe, in broken accents. 
 "Did either of you think what would happen to me 
 if we all went back to 18Y6 ? Two years old ! That's 
 what I'd be ! A little toddling baby, like Susan Mel- 
 lick's Annie! Put to bed before supper carried 
 about in everybody's arms fed on a bottle and 
 and perhaps and perhaps getting spanked!" 
 
 24
 
 A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 With the last word, Phoebe burst into tears of 
 mingled grief and mortification and rushed from the 
 room. 
 
 The others dared not meet each other's guilty eyes. 
 Droop gazed about the room in painful indecision. 
 He could not bear to give up all hope, and yet this 
 unforeseen objection really seemed a very serious 
 one. To leave the younger sister behind was out of 
 the question. On the other hand, the consequences 
 of the opposite course were well, painful to her at 
 least. 
 
 In his nervousness he unconsciously grasped a 
 small object on the table upon which his left hand 
 had been lying. It was a miniature daintily painted 
 on ivory. He looked vacantly upon it; his mind at 
 first quite absent from his eyes. But as he gazed, 
 something familiar in the lovely face depicted there 
 fixed his attention. Before long he was examining 
 the picture with the greatest interest. 
 
 "Well, now!" he exclaimed, at length. "Ain't 
 that pretty! Looks jest like her, too. When was 
 that tuck, Miss Wise?" 
 
 "That ain't Phcebe," said Rebecca, dejectedly. 
 
 "Ain't Phoebe!" Droop cried, in amazement. 
 "Why, it's the finest likeness why but it must 
 be yer sister!" 
 
 "Well, 'tain't. Thet pictur is jest three hundred 
 years old." 
 
 "Three hundred " he began then very slowly, 
 "Well, now, do tell!" he said. 
 
 25
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Phoebe's got the old letter that tells about it. 
 The's a lot of 'em in that little carved-wood box 
 there. They say it come over in the Mayflower." 
 
 Droop could not take his eyes from the picture. 
 The likeness was perfect. Here was the pretty youth 
 ful oval of her face the same playful blue eye 
 the sensitive red lips seeming about to sparkle into 
 a smile even the golden brown mist of hair that 
 hid the delicately turned ear! 
 
 Then Droop suddenly remembered his plans, and 
 with his hand he dropped the picture as his mind dis 
 missed it. He rose and looked about for his hat. 
 
 "Ye wouldn't want to come back to '76 with me 
 an' leave Cousin Phrebe behind, would ye?" he sug 
 gested, dismally. 
 
 "What!" cried Rebecca, giving vent to her pent-up 
 feelings, "an' never see my sister again! Why, I'd 
 hev to come livin' along up behind her, and, all I 
 could do, I'd never catch up with her never! You'd 
 ought to be ashamed to stand there an' think o' sech a 
 thing, Copernicus Droop!" 
 
 For some time he stood with bent head and shoul 
 ders, twirling his hat between his fingers. At length 
 he straightened up suddenly and moved toward the 
 door. 
 
 "Well," he said, "the' isn't any use you seein' the 
 Panchronicon now, is the' ?" 
 
 "What's it like, Mr. Droop?" Rebecca inquired. 
 
 He paused helpless before the very thought of de 
 scription. 
 
 26
 
 A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Oh," he said, weakly, "et's like et's a why 
 Oh, it's a machine!" 
 
 "Hez it got wings?" 
 
 "Not exactly wings," he began, then, more ear 
 nestly, "why don't ye come and see it, anyway! 
 It can't do ye any harm to jest look at it!" 
 
 Rebecca dropped her hands into her lap and re 
 plied, with a hesitating manner: 
 
 "I'd like to fust rate it must be an awful queer 
 machine! But I don't get much time fer traipsin* 
 'round now days." 
 
 "Why can't ye come right along now?" Droop 
 asked, eagerly. "It's dry as a bone underfoot down 
 in the swamp now. The's ben no rain in a long 
 time." 
 
 She pondered some time before replying. Her 
 first impulse was to reject the proposal as preposter 
 ous. The hour seemed very ill chosen. Rebecca was 
 not accustomed to leaving home for any purpose at 
 night, and she was extremely conservative. 
 
 On the other hand, she felt that only under cover 
 of the darkness could she consent to go anywhere in 
 company with the village reprobate. Every tongue 
 in the place would be set wagging were she seen 
 walking with Copernicus Droop. She had not herself 
 known how strong was the curiosity which his star 
 tling theories and incredible story had awakened in 
 her. She looked up at her visitor with indecision in 
 her eyes. 
 
 "I don't see how I could go now," she said. "Be- 
 27
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 sides, it's mos' too dark to see the thing, ain't 
 it?" 
 
 "Not a mite," he replied, confidently. "The's 
 lights inside I can turn on, an' we'll see the hull thing 
 better'n by daylight." 
 
 Then, as she still remained undecided, he con 
 tinued, in an undertone: 
 
 "Cousin Phoebe's up in her room, ain't she? Ye 
 might not get another chance so easy." 
 
 He had guessed instinctively that, under the cir 
 cumstances, Rebecca preferred not revealing to 
 Phoebe her own continued interest in the wonderful 
 machine. 
 
 The suggestion was vital. Phoebe was in all prob 
 ability sulking in her own bedroom, and in that event 
 would not quit it for an hour. It seemed now or 
 never. 
 
 Rebecca rolled up her knitting work and rose to 
 her feet. 
 
 "Jest wait here a spell," she said, rapidly. "I 
 won't be a minute!" 
 
 Shortly afterward, two swiftly moving, shadowy 
 figures emerged from the little white gate and turned 
 into a dark lane made more gloomy by overhanging 
 maples. This was the shortest route to Burnham's 
 swamp. 
 
 Copernicus was now more hopeful. He could not 
 but feel that, if the elder sister came face to face with 
 his marvellous machine, good must result for his 
 
 28
 
 A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 plans. Rebecca walked with nervous haste, dreading 
 Phoebe's possible discovery of this most unconven 
 tional conduct. 
 
 The night was moonless, and the two stumbled and 
 groped their way down the lane at a pace whose slow 
 ness exasperated Rebecca. 
 
 "Ef I'd a-known!" she exclaimed, under her 
 breath. 
 
 "We're 'most there, Cousin Rebecca," said Coper 
 nicus, with deprecating softness. "Here, give me 
 holt o' yer hand while we climb over the wall. Here's 
 Burnham's swamp right now." 
 
 Accepting the proffered aid, Rebecca found her 
 self in the midst of a thicket of bushes, many of 
 which were thorny and all of which seemed bent 
 upon repelling nocturnal adventurers. 
 
 Droop, going ahead, did his best to draw aside the 
 obstinate twigs, and Rebecca followed him with half- 
 averted head, lifting her skirts and walking side- 
 wise. 
 
 " 'Mighty lucky, 'tain't wet weather!" she mum 
 bled. 
 
 At that moment her guide stood still. 
 
 "There!" he exclaimed, in a low, half -awed voice. 
 
 Rebecca stopped and gazed about. A little to the 
 right the dark gray of the sky was cut by a looming 
 black mass of uncertain form. 
 
 It looked like the crouching phantom of some 
 shapeless sea-monster. Rebecca half expected to see 
 it dissolve like a wind-driven fog. 
 
 29
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Their physical sight could distinguish nothing of 
 the outer characteristics of this mysterious structure; 
 but for this very reason, the imagination was the 
 more active. Rebecca, with all her directness of 
 nature and commonplace experience, felt in this un 
 wonted presence that sense of awed mystery which 
 she would have called a "creepy feeling." 
 
 What unknown and incomprehensible forces were 
 locked within that formless mass? By what manner 
 of race as yet unborn had its elements been brought 
 together no, no would they be brought together? 
 How assume a comfortable mental attitude toward 
 this creation whose present existence so long ante 
 dated its own origin? 
 
 One sentiment, at least, Rebecca could entertain 
 with hearty consistency. Curiosity asserted its su 
 premacy over every other feeling. 
 
 "Can't we get into the thing, an' light a candle or 
 suthin'?" she said. 
 
 "Of course we can," said Droop. "That's what I 
 brought ye here fer. Take holt o' my hand an' lift 
 yer feet, or you'll stumble." 
 
 Leading his companion by the hand, Copernicus 
 approached the dark form, moving with great cau 
 tion over the clumps of grassy turf. Presently he 
 reached the side of the machine. Rebecca heard him 
 strike it with his hand two or three times, as though 
 groping for something. Then she was drawn forward 
 again, and suddenly found herself entering an in 
 visible doorway. She stumbled on the threshold and 
 
 30
 
 A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 flung out her free hand for support. She clutched 
 at a hand-rail that seemed to lead spirally upward. 
 
 Droop's voice came out of the blackness. 
 
 "Jest wait here a minute," he said. "I'll go up 
 an' turn on the light." 
 
 She heard him climbing a short flight of stairs, and 
 a few moments later a flood of light streamed from 
 a doorway above her head, amply lighting the little 
 hallway in which Rebecca was standing. 
 
 The hand-rail to which she was already clinging 
 skirted the iron stairs leading to the light, and she 
 started at once up this narrow spiral. 
 
 She was met at the door by Copernicus, who was 
 smiling with a proud complacency. 
 
 "Wai, Cousin Rebecca," he said, with a sweeping 
 gesture indicating their general surroundings, "what 
 d'ye think o' this?" 
 
 They were standing at the head of a sort of com 
 panion-way in a roomy antechamber much resem 
 bling the general cabin of a luxurious old-time sail 
 ing-packet. The top of the stairs was placed between 
 two windows in one side wall of the machine, through 
 which there was just then entering a gentle breeze. 
 Two similar openings faced these in the opposite side 
 wall, and under each of the four windows there 
 was a long wooden bench carrying a flat mattress 
 cushion. 
 
 In the middle of the room, on a square deep-piled 
 rug, stood a table covered with a red cloth and sur 
 rounded by three or four solid-looking upholstered 
 
 31
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 chairs. Here were some books and papers, and di 
 rectly over the table a handsome electric chandelier 
 hung from the ceiling of dark-wood panels. This 
 was the source of their present illumination. 
 
 "This here's the settin'-room," Droop explained. 
 "An' these are the state-rooms that's what he called 
 'em." 
 
 He walked toward two doors in one of the end 
 walls and, opening one of them, turned the switch of 
 the lamp within. 
 
 "'Lectric lights in it, like down to Keene," Re 
 becca remarked, approaching the cabin and peer 
 ing in. 
 
 She saw a small bedroom comfortably furnished. 
 The carpet was apparently new, and on the taste 
 fully papered walls hung a number of small oil-paint 
 ings. 
 
 Droop opened the other door. 
 
 "They're both alike," he said. 
 
 Rebecca glanced into the second apartment, which 
 was indeed the counterpart of its companion. 
 
 "Well, it wouldn't do no harm to sweep an' beat 
 these carpets!" she exclaimed. Then, slipping her 
 forefinger gingerly over the edge of a chair: "Look 
 at that dust!" she said, severely, holding up her hand 
 for inspection. 
 
 But Droop had bustled off to another part of the 
 room. 
 
 "Here's lockers under these window-seats," he ex 
 plained, with a dignified wave of the hand. "Here's 
 
 32
 
 A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 books an' maps in this set o' shelves. Here's a small 
 planner that plays itself when you turn on the elec 
 tricity " 
 
 There was a stumbling crash and a suppressed cry 
 at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 With his heart in his mouth, Droop leaped to the 
 chandelier and turned out the lights; then rushed to 
 the state-rooms and was about to turn their switches 
 as well, when a familiar voice greeted their ears from 
 below 
 
 "Don't be scared it's only Phoebe." 
 
 "What ever possessed " began Rebecca, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 But at that moment Phoebe's head appeared over 
 the stair rail in the light shed from the two state 
 rooms. 
 
 "Won't you light up again, Mr. Droop?" she said, 
 merrily, smiling the while into her sister's crestfallen 
 face. "I heard you two leavin' the house, an' I just 
 guessed what you'd be up to. So I followed you 
 down here." 
 
 She dropped into one of the chairs beside the table 
 just as Droop relighted the lamps. 
 
 With one slender hand resting upon the table, she 
 looked up into Droop's face and went on: 
 
 "I was havin' a dreadful time, stumbling over 
 stocks an' stones at every step, till suddenly there was 
 quite a light struck my face, and first I knew I was 
 lookin' right into your lighted windows. I guess 
 we'll have a pleasant meetin' here of all the folks in 
 
 33
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 town pretty soon not to mention the skeeters, 
 which are comin' right early this year!" 
 
 "Lands sakes!" cried Rebecca. 
 
 "There now!" exclaimed Copernicus, bustling 
 toward the windows, "I must be a nateral born fool!" 
 
 Phoebe laughed in high spirits at thought of her 
 prank, while Droop closed the tight iron shutters at 
 each window, thus confining every ray of light. 
 
 Rebecca seated herself opposite Phoebe and looked 
 severely straight before her with her hands folded 
 in her lap. She was ashamed of her curiosity and 
 much chagrined at being discovered in this uncon 
 ventional situation by her younger sister. 
 
 Phoebe gazed about her and, having taken in the 
 general aspect of the antechamber in which they were 
 assembled, she explored the two state-rooms. Thence 
 she returned for a more detailed survey. Droop fol 
 lowed her about explaining everything, but Rebecca 
 remained unmoved. 
 
 "What's all those dials on the wall, Mr. Droop?" 
 asked the younger sister. 
 
 "I wish't you'd call me Cousin Copernicus," said 
 Droop, appealingly. 
 
 Phoebe ran up very close to a large steel dial-plate 
 covered with figures. 
 
 "Now what the land is this for?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Thet," said Droop, slowly, "is an indicator of 
 height above ground and tells yer direction." 
 
 "And what d'ye do with this little handle?" 
 
 "Why, you set that for north or west or any other 
 34
 
 A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 way, an' the hull machine keeps headed that way 
 until ye change it." 
 
 "Oh, is that the rudder?" 
 
 "No, that is fer settin' jest one course fer a long 
 ride like's ef we was goin' north to the pole, ye 
 know. The rudder's in here, 'long with the other 
 machinery." 
 
 He walked to one of the two doors which faced the 
 state-rooms. 
 
 Phrebe followed him and found herself in the pres 
 ence of a bewildering array of controlling and guid 
 ing handles gauges test cocks meters and indica 
 tors. She was quite overawed, and listened with a 
 new respect for her distant relative as he explained 
 the uses of the various instruments. It was evident 
 that he had quite mastered the significance of each 
 implement. 
 
 When Droop had completed his lecture, Phoebe 
 found that she understood the uses of three of the 
 levers. The rest was a mystery to her. 
 
 "This is the starting-lever," she said. "This steers, 
 and this reverses. Is that it?" 
 
 "That's correct," said Droop, "an' if " 
 
 She cut him short by whisking out of the room. 
 
 "What drives the thing?" she asked, as he meekly 
 followed her. 
 
 "Oh, the's power storage an' all kinds o' works 
 down below stairs." 
 
 "An' what's this room for?" she asked, opening the 
 door next the engine-room. 
 
 35
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Thet's the kitchen an' butler's pantry," said 
 Droop. "It's mighty finely fitted up, I tell ye. That 
 future-man was what ye call a conusure. My, but he 
 could cook up fine victuals!" 
 
 Rebecca found this temptation stronger than her 
 ill humor, and she rose with alacrity and followed her 
 companions into the now brightly lighted kitchen. 
 
 Here the appointments were the completest pos 
 sible, and, after she and Phcebe had mastered the 
 theory of the electric range, they agreed that they 
 had never seen such a satisfactory equipment. 
 
 Phoebe stood in the middle of the room and looked 
 about her with kindling eyes. The novelty of this 
 adventure had intoxicated her. Rebecca's enthusiasm 
 was repeated threefold in the more youthful bosom 
 of her sister. 
 
 "My!" she cried, "wouldn't it be lovely if we could 
 make this our house down here for a while! What 
 would the Mellicks an' the Tituses an' " 
 
 "They'd take us for a lunatic asylum," Rebecca 
 exclaimed, severely. 
 
 Phoebe considered a moment and then gravely re 
 plied: 
 
 "Yes, I s'pose they would." 
 
 Copernicus was pacing slowly up and down from 
 range to china-closet and back, rubbing his hands 
 slowly over each other. 
 
 "I wish't you'd try to see ef ye couldn't change 
 yer mind, Cousin Phoebe," he said, earnestly. "Jest 
 think of all there is in this extrordnery vessel what 
 
 36
 
 A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 with kitchen an' little cunnin' state-rooms what 
 with the hull machinery an' all it's a sinful waste 
 to leave it all to rot away down in this here swamp 
 when we might all go back to the Centennial an' 
 get rich as as Solomon's temple!" 
 
 Phoebe led the way in silence to the outer room 
 again, and Droop carefully extinguished the lights in 
 the kitchen and engine-room. 
 
 As the three stood together under the main chan 
 delier their faces were the exponents of three differ 
 ent moods. 
 
 Droop was wistful anxious. 
 
 Rebecca looked grimly regretful. 
 
 In Phoebe's eyes there shone a cheerful light but 
 her expression was enigmatic. 
 
 "Now let's go home," she said, briskly. "I've 
 got somethin' that I want to talk to Rebecca about. 
 Can't you call in to-morrow mornin', Mr. Droop?" 
 
 "Don't ye believe ye might change yer mind?" he 
 asked, mournfully. 
 
 "We'll be through with the breakfast an' have 
 things set to rights by eight o'clock," said Phoebe. 
 
 37
 
 CHAPTER in 
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 PROMPTLY at the appointed time, Copernicus Droop 
 might have been seen approaching the white cottage. 
 Still nursing a faint hope, he walked with nervous 
 rapidity, mumbling and gesticulating in his excite 
 ment. He attracted but little attention. His erratic 
 movements were credited to his usual potations, and 
 no one whom he passed even gave him a second 
 glance. 
 
 bearing the house he saw Phoebe leaning out of 
 one of the second-story windows. She had been gaz 
 ing westward toward Burnham's swamp, but she 
 caught sight of Droop and nodded brightly to him. 
 Then she drew in her head and pulled down the win 
 dow. 
 
 Phoebe opened the door as Copernicus entered the 
 garden gate, and it was at once apparent that her 
 buoyant mood was still upon her, for she actually 
 offered her hand to her visitor as he stood at the 
 threshold wiping his feet. 
 
 "Good mornin'," she said. "I've ben tryin' to see 
 if I could find the Panchronicon out of my window. 
 It's just wonderful how well it's hidden in the 
 bushes." 
 
 38
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 She led him to the parlor and offered him a seat. 
 
 "Where's Cousin Rebecca?" he said, as he care 
 fully placed his hat on the floor beside his chair. 
 
 Phcebe seated herself opposite to her visitor with 
 her back to the windows, so that her face was in 
 shadow. 
 
 "Rebecca's upstairs," she replied. 
 
 Then, after a moment's pause: "She's packin' up," 
 she said. 
 
 Droop straightened up excitedly. 
 
 "What packin'!" he cried. "Hev ye decided ye'll 
 go, then?" 
 
 "Well," said Phoabe, slowly, "we have an' an' 
 we haven't." 
 
 "What d'ye mean?" 
 
 "Why, Mr. Droop, it's just like this," she ex 
 claimed, leaning forward confidentially. "Ye see, 
 Rebecca an' I are both just plumb crazy to try that 
 wonderful plan of cuttin' meridians at the North 
 Pole an' we're wild fer a ride on that queer kind 
 of a boat or whatever ye call it. At the same time, 
 Rebecca has to acknowledge that it's askin' too much 
 of me to go back to two years old an' live like a baby. 
 For one thing, I wouldn't have a thing to wear." 
 
 "But ye might make some clothes before ye start," 
 Droop suggested. 
 
 "Mr. Droop!" Phoebe exclaimed, severely, "what 
 do you s'pose folks would say if Rebecca and I was to 
 set to work makin' baby clothes two old maids like 
 us?" 
 
 39
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Droop looked down in confusion and plucked at 
 the edge of his coat. 
 
 "Phoebe Wise, you're only just tryin' to be smart 
 fer argument!" 
 
 This sentence was delivered with a suddenness 
 which was startling. Droop looked up with a jump 
 to find Rebecca standing at the door with a pile of 
 clean sheets on her arm. 
 
 She was gazing sternly at Phoebe, who appeared 
 somewhat disconcerted. 
 
 "You know 's well 's I do," continued the elder 
 sister, "that every one o' your baby clothes is folded 
 an' put away as good as new in the attic." 
 
 Phoebe rallied quickly and repelled this attack with 
 spirit. 
 
 "Well, I don't care. They'll stay right where they 
 are, Rebecca," she answered, with irritation. "You 
 know we settled it last night that I wasn't to be pes 
 tered about goin' back to 1876!" 
 
 "That's true," was the reply, "but don't you be 
 givin' such fool reasons for it. It's really just because 
 you're afraid o' bein' whipped an' put to bed an' 
 goodness knows, you deserve it!" 
 
 With this, Rebecca turned grimly and went into 
 the garden to hang the sheets up for an airing. 
 
 There was a moment's awkward pause, and then 
 Phoebe broke the silence. 
 
 "Our plan's this, Mr. Droop," she said, "an' I hope 
 you'll agree. We want to have you take us to the 
 North Pole and unwind about six years. That'll 
 
 40
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 take us back before the World's Fair in Chicago, 
 when I was eighteen years old, an' we can see fer 
 ourselves how it feels to be livin' backward an' grow- 
 in' younger instead of older every minute." 
 
 "But what's the good of that?" Droop asked, quer 
 ulously. "I ain't goin' to do it jest fer fun. I'm 
 growin' too old to waste time that way. My plan 
 was to make money with all them inventions." 
 
 "Well, an' why can't ye?" she replied, coaxingly. 
 "There's that X-ray invention, now. Why couldn't 
 you show that at the World's Fair an' get a patent 
 fer it?" 
 
 "I don't understand that business," he replied, 
 sharply. "Besides I can't get one o' them X-ray ma 
 chines they cost a heap." 
 
 This was a blow to Phosbe's plan and she fell 
 silent, thinking deeply. She had foreseen that Droop 
 would take only a mercenary view of the matter 
 and had relied upon the X-ray to provide him with 
 a motive. But if he refused this, what was she 
 to do? 
 
 Suddenly her face lighted up. 
 
 "I've got it!" she cried. "You know those movin' 
 picture boxes ye see down to Keene, where ye turn 
 a handle and a lot of photograph cards fly along like 
 rufflin' the leaves of a book. Why, it just makes 
 things look alive, Mr. Droop. I'm sure those weren't 
 thought of six years ago. They're span spinter new. 
 Why won't they do?" 
 
 "I ain't got one o' those either," Droop grumbled. 
 41
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "I've got a kodak an' a graphophone an* a lot o' Mil- 
 liken's cough syrup with the recipe " 
 
 "Why there!" cried Phoebe, exultantly. "Milli- 
 ken's cough syrup is only four years old, ain't it ?" 
 
 Droop did not reply, but his silence was a virtual 
 assent. 
 
 "The's a mint o' money in that you know there 
 is, Mr. Droop," she urged. "Why, I guess Mr. Milli- 
 ken must have two or three millions, hasn't he?" 
 
 Rebecca returned at this moment and seated her 
 self on the haircloth settle, nodding silently to Droop. 
 
 "What's about Mr. Milliken's money, Phoebe?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Why Mr. Droop says the X-ray is no good because 
 it costs a heap and he hasn't got a machine fer it an' 
 I was tellin' him that Milliken's cough syrup was just 
 as good for that wasn't invented six years ago, 
 an' " 
 
 "Phoebe Wise, what do you mean!" exclaimed Re 
 becca. "Why, it would be jest like robbery to take 
 Mr. Milliken's syrup, an' palm it off as Mr. Droop's. 
 I'm surprised at ye!" 
 
 This attack upon the ethical plane struck Phoebe 
 speechless. She blushed and stammered, but had no 
 reply to make. The seeming defeat really concealed 
 a victory, however, for it instantly converted Coper 
 nicus into an ally. 
 
 "You don't understand the thing, Cousin Re 
 becca," he said, gently but firmly. "Ye see ef we 
 go six years back, it'll be a time when Mr. Milliken 
 
 42
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 hadn't ever thought of his cough syrup. How could 
 we be robbin' him of somethin' he hasn't got?" 
 
 Rebecca looked confused for a moment, but was 
 not to be so easily convinced. 
 
 " 'Tain't somethin' he ain't thought of," she said, 
 stoutly. "He's makin' money out of it, an' ef we 
 get back before him, why, when time comes agin for 
 him to invent it he won't have it to invent. I'm sure 
 that's jest as bad as robbin' him, ain't it?" 
 
 Phrebe looked anxiously at Copernicus and was 
 much pleased to find him apparently unmoved. 
 
 "Why, you certainly don't understand this yet," he 
 insisted. "Milliken ain't agoin' back six years with 
 us, is he? He'll jest go right along livin' as he's ben 
 doin'." 
 
 "What!" Eebecca exclaimed. "Will he be livin' 
 in one time an' we be livin' in another both at the 
 same She stopped. What was she saying ! 
 
 "No no !" replied Copernicus. "He'll go on liv 
 in'. That's what he will do. We'll go on havin' 
 lived. Or to put it different we have gone on livin' 
 after we get back six years to 1892. Ye see, we 
 really have past all the six years so the's no harm 
 in it. Milliken won't be hurt." 
 
 Rebecca glanced at Phoebe, in whose face she 
 found her own perplexity reflected. Then, throw 
 ing out her hands, as though pushing away her 
 crowding mental obstructions, she cried: 
 
 "There there! I can't get the hang of it. It's 
 too much for me!" 
 
 43
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Oh, when you've done it once it'll be all easy 
 and clear," said Droop, soothingly. 
 
 Phoebe looked hopefully into his face. 
 
 "Will you take us, Mr. Droop?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, I s'pose I'll hev to." 
 
 "An' only unwind six years?" 
 
 "Yes jest six years." 
 
 She jumped up excitedly. 
 
 "Then I'll be ofl to my packin'!" 
 
 She ran to the door and, pausing here, turned again 
 to their visitor. 
 
 "Can we start to-night, Mr. Droop?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" he replied. "The sooner the bet 
 ter." 
 
 "That's splendid!" she cried, and ran quickly up 
 the stairs. 
 
 The two older people sat for a while in melancholy 
 silence, looking down. Each had hoped for more 
 than this. Copernicus tried to convince himself that 
 the profit from the cough syrup would comfort him 
 for his disappointment. Rebecca dismissed with a 
 sigh the dreams which she had allowed herself to enter 
 tain those bright fictions centering on Joe Chandler 
 not the subdued old bachelor of 1898, but the jolly 
 young fellow of the famous Centennial year. 
 
 At length Eebecca looked up and said: 
 
 "After all, Mr. Droop, come to think of it, you've 
 no call to take us with ye. I can't do ye any good 
 goin' back only six years." 
 
 "Yes ye can," said Droop. "I'll need somebody 
 44
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 to help me keep house in the Panchronicon. I ain't 
 no hand at cookin' an' all, an' besides, it'll be mighty 
 lonely without anybody in there." 
 
 "Well," she rejoined, rising, "I'll jest go up an* 
 finish my packin'." 
 
 "An' I'll go tend to mine." 
 
 As they parted at the front door, it was arranged 
 that Droop was to bring a wheelbarrow after supper 
 and transport the sisters' belongings, preparatory to 
 their departure. 
 
 The rest of the day was spent in preparation for 
 the momentous voyage. Phoebe went to the little 
 bank at Peltonville station and withdrew the entire 
 savings of herself and sister, much to the astonish 
 ment and concern of the cashier. She walked all 
 the way to the bank and back alone, for it was obvi 
 ously necessary to avoid inconvenient questions. 
 
 When the two sisters stood in their little dining- 
 room with the heap of greenbacks on the table be 
 fore them, Rebecca was attacked by another con 
 scientious scruple. 
 
 "I don't hardly know as we're doin' right, Phoebe," 
 she said, shaking her head dubiously. "When we 
 get back to 1892 we'd ought to find some money in 
 the bank already. Ef we hev this with us, too, seems 
 to me we'll hev more'n we're entitled to. Ain't it 
 a good deal like cheatin' the bank?" 
 
 "Mercy, no !" Phoebe exclaimed, pettishly. "You're 
 forever raisin' some trouble like that! Ain't this 
 our money?" 
 
 45
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Yes but- 
 
 "Well, then, what's the use o' talkin' 'bout it? 
 Just wait till we can mention your trouble to Mr. 
 Droop. He'll have a good answer for you." 
 
 "But s'posin' he can't answer it?" Kebecca in 
 sisted. 
 
 "Well, if he can't we can give back the difference 
 to the bank." 
 
 So saying, Phoebe took her share of the bills and 
 quickly left the room. 
 
 "I've got lots of things to do before night," she 
 remarked. 
 
 At promptly half-past nine all the lights in the 
 house were extinguished, and the two sisters sat to 
 gether in the dark parlor awaiting Copernicus. It 
 was Rebecca who had insisted on putting out the 
 lights. 
 
 "Ef folks was to see lights here so late in the 
 night," she said, "they'd suspicion somethin' an' they 
 might even call in." 
 
 Phoebe admitted the justness of this reasoning, and 
 they had both directed every endeavor to complet 
 ing all their arrangements before their accustomed 
 bed-time. 
 
 It was not long after this that a stealthy step was 
 heard on the gravel path and Phoebe hurried to the 
 door. Copernicus came in with a low word of greet 
 ing and followed the ghostly shadow of his hostess 
 into the parlor. 
 
 The three stood together in the dark and con- 
 46
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 versed in an undertone^ like so many conspirators 
 surrounded by spies. 
 
 "Hev ye got everythin' ready?" Droop asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Phoebe. "The's only two little trunks 
 for you. Did you bring the wheelbarrow?" 
 
 "Yep I left it outside the gate. 'Twould hev 
 made a lot of noise on the gravel inside." 
 
 "That's right," said Phoebe. "I guess you'll not 
 have any trouble to carry both o' those trunks at 
 once. We haven't packed only a few things, 'cause 
 I expect we'll find all our old duds ready for us in 
 1892, won't we?" 
 
 "Why, 'f course," said Droop. 
 
 "But how 'bout linen sheets an' table-cloths an' 
 all?" said Rebecca. "We'll need some o' them on 
 the trip, won't we?" 
 
 "I've got a hull slew o' them things in the Pan- 
 chronicon," said Copernicus. "Ye won't hev to 
 bother a bit about sech things." 
 
 "How long do you s'pose it'll take to make the 
 trip," asked Phoebe. "I mean by the clock? We 
 won't have to do any washing on the way, will we?" 
 
 "I don't see how we can," Rebecca broke in. 
 " The's not a blessed tub on the hull machine." 
 
 "No, no," said Droop, reassuringly. "We'll make 
 a bee-line for the pole, an' we'll go 'bout three times 
 as fast as a lightnin' express train. We'd ought to 
 reach there in about twenty-four hours, I guess. 
 Then we'll take it easy cuttin' meridians, so's not 
 
 to suffer from side weight, an' " 
 
 47
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 ''Side weight!" exclaimed the two women to 
 gether. 
 
 "Yes," said Droop. "That's a complaint ye get 
 ef ye unwind the time too fast. Ye see, growin' 
 young isn't a thing folks is used to, an' it disgrum- 
 mages the hull constitution ef ye grow young too 
 fast. Well, 's I was a-sayin', I guess it'll take 'bout 
 eighteen hours by the clock to cut back six years. 
 Thet's by the clock, ye understand. As a matter 
 of fact, of course, we'll be just six years less'n no 
 time in finishin' the trip." 
 
 "Well," said Phoebe, briskly, "that's no kind o' 
 reason fer dawdlin' about it now. Let's be startin'." 
 
 "Where's the trunks?" said Droop. 
 
 The trunks were pointed out, and with very little 
 trouble Copernicus put them onto the barrow. He 
 then came to the door for his last instructions. 
 
 " 'S any thin' more ?" he asked. 
 
 "No," said Kebecca. "We'll bring on our special 
 duds in our arms. We'll wait a spell an' come on 
 separate." 
 
 The door was carefully closed and they soon heard 
 the slight creak of the weighted wheel as Droop set 
 off with the trunks for Burnham's swamp. 
 
 "Now, then," said Phosbe, bustling into the par 
 lor, "let's get our things all together ready to start. 
 Have ye got your satchel with the money in it?" 
 
 Rebecca gently slapped a black leather bag hang 
 ing at her side. 
 
 "Here 'tis," she said. 
 
 48
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 "Let's see," Phoebe went on. "Here's my box with 
 the letters an' miniature, here's the box with the 
 jewelry, an' here's that book Mrs. Bolton gave me 
 about Bacon writin' Shakespeare." 
 
 "Whatever air ye takin' that old book fer, 
 Phoebe?" 
 
 "Why, to read on the train I mean on the way, 
 ye know. We'll likely find it pretty pokey in that 
 one room all day." 
 
 "I don't know what ye mean by 'all day,' " Re 
 becca exclaimed in a discouraged tone. "So far's I 
 see, th'ain't goin' to be any days. What'll it feel 
 like livin' backward that way? D'ye guess it'll 
 make us feel sick, like ridin' backward in the cars?" 
 
 "Don't ask me," Phoebe exclaimed, despairingly. 
 " 'F I knew what 'twas like, perhaps I wouldn't feel 
 so like goin'." 
 
 She straightened herself suddenly and stood rigid. 
 
 "Hark!" she exclaimed. "Is that Mr. Droop corn- 
 in' back, d'you s'pose?" 
 
 There were distinctly audible footsteps on the 
 path. 
 
 Phoebe came out into the hall on tiptoe and stood 
 beside her sister. 
 
 There was a knock on the door. The two sisters 
 gripped each other's arms excitedly. 
 
 "'Taint Copernicus!" Eebecca whispered very 
 low. 
 
 The knock was repeated; rather louder this time. 
 Then 
 
 49
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Miss Wise Miss Wise are ye to home?" 
 
 It was a woman's voice. 
 
 "Sarah Allen!" Phoebe exclaimed under her 
 breath. 
 
 "Whatever shall we do?" Rebecca replied. 
 
 "Miss Wise," the voice repeated, and then their 
 visitor knocked again, much more loudly. 
 
 "I'll go to the door," exclaimed Phoebe. 
 
 "But " 
 
 "I must. She'll raise the whole town if I don't." 
 
 So saying, Phoebe walked noisily to the door and 
 unlocked it. 
 
 "Is that you, Mis' Allen?" she asked. 
 
 The door was opened, and Phoebe found herself 
 face to face with a short, light woman whose white 
 garments shone gray in the night. 
 
 "Why, you're up'n dressed!" exclaimed Mrs. Al 
 len. She did not offer to enter, but went on excit 
 edly: 
 
 "Miss Phoebe," she said, "d'you know I b'lieve 
 you've ben robbed." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Yes; on'y a minute ago I was a-comin' up the 
 road from M'ria Payson's you know she's right 
 sick an' I've ben givin' her massidge an' what sh'd 
 I see but a man comin' out o' your gate with suthin' 
 on his shoulder. I couldn't see who 'twas, an' he was 
 so quiet an' sneaky without a light that I jest slipped 
 behind a tree. You know I've ben dreadful skeery 
 ever sence Tom was brought home with his arm 
 
 50
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 broke after a fight with a strange man in the dark. 
 Well, this man to-night he put the bundle or what 
 not into a wheelbarrow an' set off quiet as a mouse. 
 He went off down that way, an' says I to myself, 
 'It's a robber ben burglin' at the Wise's house/ says 
 I, an' I come straight here to see ef ye was both 
 murdered or what. Air ye all right? Hez he broken 
 yer door? Hev ye missed anythin'?" 
 
 As the little woman paused for breath, Phoebe 
 seized her opportunity. 
 
 "Did you say he went off to the north, Mis' Allen?" 
 she said, with feigned excitement. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Oh, dear oh, dear !" cried Phoebe, wringing her 
 hands. "Didn't I say I heard a noise I told you I 
 heard a burglar, Rebecca," she went on, hysterically, 
 turning to her sister. 
 
 "Is Miss Rebecca there?" asked Mrs. Allen. 
 
 Rebecca came forward in silence. She was quite 
 nonplussed. To tell the truth, Phoebe's sudden out 
 burst was as great a tax upon her nerves as Mrs. 
 Allen's unwelcome visit. Surely Phoebe had said 
 nothing about a burglar! It was Droop that Mrs. 
 Allen had seen of course it was. She dared not 
 say so in their visitor's presence, but she wondered 
 mightily at Phoebe's apparent perturbation. 
 
 Phoebe guessed her sister's mental confusion, and 
 she sought to draw Mrs. Allen's attention to herself 
 to avoid the betrayal of their plans which would cer 
 tainly follow Rebecca's joining the conversation. 
 
 51
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Mis' Allen," she exclaimed, excitedly, "the's just 
 one thing to be done. Won't you run 's quick 's ever 
 you can to Si Pray, an' ask him to bring his gun? 
 You won't meet the burglar 'cause he's gone the 
 other way. Rebecca 'nd I'll jest wait here for you 
 an' Si. I'll get some hot water from the kitchen, 
 in case the burglar should come back while you're 
 gone. Oh, please will you do it?" 
 
 "Course I will," was the nervous reply. This hint 
 of the possible return of the robbers made an imme 
 diate retreat seem very desirable. "I'll go right now. 
 Won't be gone a minute. Lock your door now 
 quick!" 
 
 She turned and sped down the path. She had not 
 reached the gate before Phoebe walked rapidly into 
 the parlor. 
 
 "Quick quick!" she panted, frantically gathering 
 up her belongings. "Get your duds an' come along." 
 
 "But what d'you " 
 
 "Come come come!" cried Phoebe. "Come 
 quick or they'll all be here. Gun and all!" 
 
 With her arm full of bundles, Phoebe rushed back 
 through the hall and out of the front door. Eebecca 
 followed her, drawn along by the fiery momentum 
 of her sister. 
 
 "Lock the front door, Rebecca," Phoebe cried. 
 Then, as she reached the gate and found it fastened: 
 "Here, I can't undo the gate. My hands are full. 
 Oh, do hurry, Rebecca! We haven't a minute!" 
 
 The elder sister locked the front door and started 
 52
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 down the path in such a nervous fever that she left 
 the key in the lock. Half way to the gate she paused. 
 
 "Come on come on!" Phoebe cried, stamping her 
 foot. 
 
 "My land!" stammered Rebecca. "I've forgot 
 everythin' !" She started back, running with short, 
 unaccustomed steps. 
 
 "My umbrella!" she gasped. "My recipes my 
 slips!" 
 
 Phoebe was speechless with anger and apprehen 
 sion at this delay, and Rebecca was therefore allowed 
 to re-enter the house without objection. 
 
 In a short time she reappeared carrying an um 
 brella, two flower-pots, and a folded newspaper. 
 
 "There!" she panted, as she came up to her sister 
 and opened the gate. "Now I guess I've got every 
 thing" 
 
 Silently and swiftly the two women sped north 
 ward, following the imaginary burglar, while the de 
 voted Mrs. Allen ran breathless in the opposite direc 
 tion for Si Pray and his gun. 
 
 "We'll hev to go more careful here," said Re 
 becca as they turned into the lane leading down to 
 the swamp. 
 
 With many a stumble and some scratches they 
 moved more slowly down the rutted track until at 
 length they reached the point where they were to 
 turn into the swamp. 
 
 Here the sisters leaned against the wall to rest 
 and recover breath. 
 
 53
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "My goodness, but that was a narrow escape!" 
 murmured Phoebe. 
 
 "Yes," said Rebecca, with reproachful sadness; 
 "but I'm afraid you paid a heavy price fer it, 
 Phoebe!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Why, 's fur 's I could make out, you told Mis' Al 
 len a deliberate wrong story, Phoebe Wise." 
 
 "What did I say?" said Phcebe, in shocked surprise. 
 
 "You said you hed told me you'd heerd a bur 
 glar!" 
 
 "Did I say that? Those very words?" 
 
 "Why, you know you did." 
 
 "Wasn't it a question, Rebecca?" Phoebe insisted. 
 "Didn't I ask you ef I hadn't told you I heard a 
 burglar?" 
 
 "No, it was a plain downright wrong story, Phoebe, 
 an' you needn't to try to sneak out of it." 
 
 Phoebe was silent for a few moments, and then 
 Rebecca heard her laugh. It was a very little, rip 
 pling thing but it was genuine there was real 
 light-heartedness behind it. 
 
 "Phoebe Wise!" exclaimed Rebecca, "how ken you 
 laugh so ? I wouldn't hev the weight of sech a thing 
 on my mind fer a good deal." 
 
 "Well, Rebecca," tittered her sister, "I didn't have 
 it on my mind yesterday, did I?" 
 
 "Course not but " 
 
 "An' won't it be yesterday for us mighty soon 
 yes, an' a heap longer ago than that?" 
 
 54
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 She laughed again merrily and began to climb 
 over the wall, a proceeding not rendered easier by 
 the various articles in her hands. 
 
 A few minutes later the two women had joined 
 Copernicus within his mysterious machine and were 
 standing in the brightly lighted antechamber at the 
 head of the stairs. 
 
 "Well well!" cried Droop, as he caught sight of 
 the two women for the first time in the light. 
 "Where ever did ye get them funny dresses? Why, 
 your sleeves is all puffed out near the shoulders!" 
 
 "These are some of our old dresses," said Rebecca. 
 "They was made in 1891, an' we thought they'd 
 prob'bly be more in the fashion back in 1892 when 
 we get there than our newer dresses." 
 
 "Never mind our dresses, Mr. Droop," said Phoebe. 
 "Where can we put down all these things? My arms 
 are breakin' off." 
 
 "Eight here, Cousin Phoebe." 
 
 Droop bustled over to the state-rooms, opening 
 both the doors at once. 
 
 "Here's a room apiece fer ye. Take yer choice." 
 
 "Oh, but where'll you sleep?" said Phoebe. 
 "P'raps Rebecca and I'd better have one room to 
 gether." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said Droop. "I'll sleep on one 
 o' them settles under the windows. They're real 
 comfortable." 
 
 "Well just as you say." 
 
 The sisters entered their rooms and deposited their 
 55
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 bundles, but Phoebe returned at once and called to 
 Droop, who had started down the stairs. 
 
 "Mr. Droop, you've got to start right straight off. 
 Mrs. Allen knows 't you've carried off the trunk and 
 she's comin' after us with Si Pray an' a gun." 
 
 Just then they heard the loud barking of a dog. 
 He was apparently running rapidly down the lane. 
 
 "Sakes alive!" cried Phcebe, in alarm. "Slam to 
 that door, Copernicus Droop! Si has let his dog 
 loose an' he's on your tracks!" 
 
 The baying was repeated now much nearer. 
 Droop clattered frantically down the stairs, and shut 
 the door with a bang. At the next moment a heavy 
 body leaped against it, and a man's voice was heard 
 close at hand. 
 
 "Sic um, Touser, sic um! Where is he, boy?" 
 
 Up the stairs went Copernicus two steps at a time. 
 He dashed into the anteroom, pale and breathless. 
 
 "Lie down on the floor!" he shouted. "Lie down 
 or ye'll get throwed down. I'm agoin' to start her!" 
 
 By this time he had opened the engine-room door. 
 
 The two women promptly lay flat on their backs 
 on the carpet. 
 
 Droop braced himself firmly and had just grasped 
 the starting lever when a cry from Rebecca arrested 
 him. 
 
 "Copernicus Droop hold on!" she cried. 
 
 He turned to her, his face full of anxious fear. 
 Rebecca lay on her back with her hands at her sides, 
 but her head was raised stiffly from the floor. 
 
 56
 
 A NOCTURNAL EVASION 
 
 "Copernicus Droop," she said, solemnly, "hev ye 
 brought any rum aboard with ye ? 'Cause if ye have 
 I won't " 
 
 She never concluded, for at this moment her head 
 was jerked back sharply against the floor by a tre 
 mendous upward leap of the machine. 
 
 There was a hissing roar as of a thousand rockets, 
 and even as Rebecca was wondering, half stunned, 
 why she saw so many jumping lights, Si Pray gazed 
 open-mouthed at the ascension of a mysterious dark 
 body apparently aimed at the sky. 
 
 The Panchronicon had started. 
 
 57
 
 CHAPTEK IV 
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 IT was long after their bed-time and the two sis 
 ters were utterly exhausted; but as the mysterious 
 structure within which they lay glided northward 
 between heaven and earth with the speed of a 
 meteor, Rebecca and Phoebe long courted sleep in 
 vain. 
 
 The excitement of their past adventures, the un 
 real wonder of their present situation, the bewilder 
 ing possibilities and impossibilities of their future 
 plans all these conspired to banish sleep until long 
 past midnight. It was not until, speeding due north 
 with the unswerving obedience of a magnet, their 
 vessel was sailing far above the waters of the upper 
 Saguenay, that they at length sank to rest. 
 
 They were awakened next morning by a knocking 
 upon Rebecca's door. 
 
 "It's pretty nigh eight-thirty," Droop cried. "I've 
 got the kettle on the range, but I don't know what 
 to do nex'." 
 
 "What! Why! Who! Where! Sakes! what's 
 this*" 
 
 Rebecca sat up in bed, unable to place herself. 
 58
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 "It's pretty nigh half-past eight," Copernicus re 
 peated. "Long after breakfast-time. I'm hungry!" 
 
 By this time Phoebe was wide awake. 
 
 "All right !" she cried. "We'll come in a minute." 
 
 Then Rebecca knew where she was or rather 
 realized that she did not know. But fortunately a 
 duty was awaiting her in the kitchen and this stead 
 ied a mind which seemed to her to need some sup 
 port in the midst of these unwonted happenings. 
 
 Phoebe was the first to leave her bedroom. She 
 had dressed with frantic speed. In her haste to get 
 to the windows and see the world from the sky, she 
 had secured her hair very imperfectly, and Droop 
 was favored with a charming display of bright locks, 
 picturesquely disarranged. 
 
 "Good-mornin', Cousin Phoebe," he said, with his 
 suavest manner. 
 
 "Good-morning, Mr. Droop," Phoebe replied. 
 "Where are we? Is everything all right?" 
 
 She made straight for one of the windows the 
 iron shutters of which were now open. 
 
 "I wish't you'd call me Cousin Copernicus," Droop 
 remarked. 
 
 "Oh oh! What a beautiful world!" 
 
 Phoebe leaned her face close to the glass and gazed 
 spell-bound at the wonderful landscape spread be 
 fore her. 
 
 The whole atmosphere seemed filled with a clear, 
 cold sunlight whose brilliance irradiated the giant 
 sphere of earth so far away. 
 
 59
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Directly below and to the right of their course, 
 as far as she could see, there was one vast expanse 
 of dark blue sea, gilded dazzlingly over one portion 
 where the sun's beams were reflected. Far ahead to 
 the north and as far behind them the sea was bor 
 dered with the fantastic curves of a faint blue coast 
 dotted and lined with the shadows of many a hill 
 and mountain. It was a map on which she was gazing. 
 Nature's own map the only perfect chart in the 
 world. 
 
 So new so intensely, almost painfully, beautiful 
 was this scene that Phoebe stood transfixed fasci 
 nated. She did not even think of speaking. 
 
 The scene was not so new to Droop and besides 
 he was a prey to an insistent appetite. His mental 
 energies, therefore, sought expression in speech. 
 
 Approaching Phoebe's side, he said: 
 
 "Mighty pretty, ain't it?" 
 
 She did not reply, so he continued: 
 
 "That water right under us is Hudson Strait. 
 The ocean to the right is the Atlantic. Ye can see 
 Hudson's Bay off to the left out o' one o' them win^ 
 dows. I've ben lookin' it up on the map." 
 
 He strolled toward the table, as if inviting Phoebe 
 to see his chart which lay there unrolled. She did 
 not follow him. 
 
 "Yes," he continued, "that's Hudson Strait, and 
 we're four miles high, an' that's all I'll tell ye till I 
 have my breakfast." 
 
 He gazed wistfully at Phoebe, who did not move 
 60
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 or speak, but let her eyes wander in awed delight 
 over the wonders thus brought before them. 
 
 Just then Rebecca emerged from her room. 
 
 "Good-mornin'," she said. "I guess I'm late." 
 
 "Good-mornin', Cousin Rebecca; I guess ye are a 
 mite late. Cousin Phoebe won't move so I'm sayin' 
 we're four miles high an' right over Hudson Strait, 
 an' that's all I'll tell ye till I get my breakfast." 
 
 "Goodness me!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Ain't that 
 mos' too high, Mr. Droop?" She hurried to the win 
 dow and looked out. 
 
 "Sakes alive!" she gasped. 
 
 She was silent for a moment, awed in her turn by 
 the immensity of the prospect. 
 
 "Why but it's all water underneath!" she ex 
 claimed at last. "Ef we was to fall now, we'd be 
 drowned!" 
 
 "Now don't you be a mite skeert," said Droop, 
 with reassuring politeness. "We've ben scootin' 
 along like this all night an' an' the fact is, I've got 
 the kettle on p'raps it's b'iled over." 
 
 Rebecca turned from the window at once and 
 made for the kitchen. 
 
 "Phoebe," she said, briskly, "you set the table now 
 an' I'll hev breakfast ready in a twinklin'." 
 
 Reluctantly Phoebe left the window and Droop 
 soon had the satisfaction of sauntering back and 
 forth between kitchen and dining-table in pleased 
 supervision of the progress of both. 
 
 In due time a simple but substantial breakfast 
 61
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 was in readiness, and the three travellers were seated 
 around the table partaking of the meal each in his 
 own way. 
 
 Droop was business-like, almost enthusiastic, in his 
 voracious hunger. Rebecca ate moderately and 
 without haste, precisely as though seated in the little 
 Peltonville cottage. Phoebe ate but little. She was 
 overcome by the wonders she had seen, realizing for 
 the first time the marvellous situation in which she 
 found herself. 
 
 It was not until the table was cleared and the two 
 women were busy with the dishes that conversation 
 was resumed. Droop sat with his chair tilted back 
 ward against the kitchen wall enjoying a quiet satis 
 faction with his lot and a kindly mental attitude 
 toward all men. 
 
 He glanced through the kitchen door at the barom 
 eter on the wall in the outer room. 
 
 "We've climbed near a mile since before break 
 fast," he remarked. 
 
 Rebecca paused before hanging up the soap-shaker. 
 
 "Look here, Mr. Droop," she said, anxiously, "we 
 are mos' too high a'ready, I think. S'posin' we was 
 to fall down. Where do you s'pose we'd be?" 
 
 "Why, Rebecca," said Phrebe, laughing, "do you 
 suppose five miles is any worse than four? I guess 
 we'd be killed by falling one mile jest as quick as 
 five." 
 
 "Quicker!" Droop exclaimed. "Considerable 
 quicker, Cousin Rebecca, fer it would take us a 
 
 62
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 good deal longer to fall five miles than it would 
 one." 
 
 "But what ever's the use o' keepin' on a-climbin' ?" 
 
 "Why, that's the nature of this machine," he re 
 plied. "Ye see, it runs on the rocket principle by 
 spurtin' out gases. Ef we want to go up off the 
 ground we squirt out under the machine an' that 
 gives us a h'ist. Then, when we get 'way up high, 
 we spread out a pair o' big wings like and start the 
 propeller at the stern end o' the thing. Now them 
 wings on'y holds us up by bein' inclined a mite in 
 front, and consequence is we're mighty apt to climb 
 a little right 'long." 
 
 "Well, but won't we get too high?" suggested 
 Phoebe. "Ain't the air too thin up very high?" 
 
 "Of course, we mustn't go too high," Droop con 
 ceded, "an' I was just a-thinkin' it wouldn't go amiss 
 to let down a spell." 
 
 He rose and started for the engine-room. 
 
 "How do you let down?" Phoebe asked, pausing 
 in her work. 
 
 "Why, I jest turn the wings horizontal, ye know, 
 an' then we sink very slow till I incline 'em up 
 again." 
 
 He disappeared. Phoebe gave the last of the dishes 
 a brief touch of the dish-towel and then ran into the 
 main room to watch the barometer. 
 
 She was much interested to observe a gradual but 
 continual decrease in their altitude. She walked to 
 the window but could see no apparent change, save 
 
 63
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 that they had now passed the sea and only the blue 
 land with silver streaks of river and indigo hill shad 
 ows was beneath them. 
 
 "How fast do you s'pose we're flyin', Mr. Droop?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "There's the speed indicator," he said, pointing to 
 one of the dials on the wall. "Ye see it says we're 
 a-hummin' along at about one hundred an' thirty 
 miles an hour." 
 
 "My gracious!" cried Phrebe. "What if we was 
 to hit something!" 
 
 "Nothin' to hit," said Droop, with a smile. "Ye 
 see, the's no sort o' use goin' any slower, an' besides, 
 this quick travellin' keeps us warm." 
 
 "Why, how's that?" 
 
 "The sides o' the machine rubbin' on the air," said 
 Droop. 
 
 "That's so," Phrebe replied. "That's what heats 
 up meteors so awful hot, ain't it?" 
 
 Rebecca came out of the kitchen at this moment. 
 
 "I must say ye wasn't particler about gettin' all 
 the pans to rights 'fore ye left the kitchen, Phrebe. 
 Ben makin' the beds?" 
 
 "Land, no, Rebecca!" said Phosbe, blushing guilt- 
 
 ay. 
 
 "Well, there!" 
 
 Rebecca said no more, but her set lips and puck 
 ered forehead spoke much of displeasure as she 
 stalked across to the state-rooms. 
 
 "Well, I declare to goodness!" she cried, as she 
 64
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 opened her door. "Ye hevn't even opened the win 
 dow to air the rooms!" 
 
 Phoebe looked quite miserable at thought of her 
 remissness, but Copernicus came bravely to the 
 rescue. 
 
 "The windows can't be opened, Cousin Rebecca," 
 he said. "Ef ye was to open one, 'twould blow yer 
 head's bald as an egg in a minute." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Yes," said Phoebe, briskly, "I couldn't air the 
 beds an' make 'em because we're going one hundred 
 and thirty odd miles an hour, Rebecca." 
 
 "D'you mean to tell me, Copernicus Droop," cried 
 the outraged spinster, "that I've got to go 'thout 
 airin' my bed?" 
 
 "No, no," Copernicus said, soothingly. "The's 
 special arrangements to keep ventilation goin'. Jest 
 leave the bed open half the day an' it'll be all 
 aired." 
 
 Rebecca looked far from pleased at this. 
 
 "I declare, ef I'd known of all these doin's," she 
 muttered. 
 
 Unable to remain idle, she set to work "putting 
 things to rights," as she called it, while Phoebe took 
 her book to the west window and was soon lost in 
 certain modern theories concerning the Baconian 
 authorship of Shakespeare's works. 
 
 "Is these duds yourn, Mr. Droop?" asked Rebecca, 
 sharply, pointing to a motley collection of goods piled 
 in one corner of the main room. 
 
 65
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Yes," Droop replied, coming quickly to her side. 
 "Them's some of the inventions I'm carryin' along." 
 
 He stooped and gathered up a number of boxes 
 and bundles in his arms. Then he stood up and 
 looked about him as though seeking a safe place for 
 their deposit. 
 
 "That's all right," said Rebecca. "Ye can put 'em 
 right back, Mr. Droop. I jest wanted to see whether 
 the' was much dust back in there." 
 
 Droop replaced his goods with a sigh of relief. 
 One box he retained, however, and, placing it upon 
 the table, proceeded to unpack it. 
 
 Rebecca now turned her attention to her own be 
 longings. Lifting one of her precious flower-pots 
 carefully, she looked all about for a more suitable 
 location for her plants. 
 
 "Phcebe," she exclaimed at length, "where ever 
 can I set my slips? They ought to be in the sun 
 there by the east window, but it'll dirt up the cov- 
 erin' of the settle." 
 
 Phoebe looked up from her book. 
 
 "Why don't ye spread out that newspaper you 
 brought with you?" she said. 
 
 Rebecca shook her head. 
 
 "No," she replied, "I couldn't do thet. The's a 
 lot o' fine receipes in there I never could make my 
 sweet pickle as good as thet recipe in the New York 
 paper thet Molly sent me." 
 
 Phoebe laid down her book and walked over to her 
 sister's side. 
 
 66
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 "Oh, the' must be some part of it you can use, 
 Rebecca," she said. "Land sakes!" she continued, 
 laughing. "Why, it's the whole of the New York 
 World for a Sunday pictures an' all! Here take 
 this advertisin' piece an' spread it out so." 
 
 She tore off a portion of the voluminous paper 
 and carefully spread it out on one of the eastern 
 settles. 
 
 "Whatever did you bring those slips with you for?" 
 she asked. 
 
 Rebecca deposited the flower-pots carefully in the 
 sun and slapped her hands across each other to re 
 move the dust on them. 
 
 "One o' them is off my best honeysuckle thet come 
 from a slip thet Sam Mellick brought from Japan 
 in 1894. This geranium come off a plant thet was 
 given me by Arabella Slade, 'fore she died in 1896, 
 an' she cut it off'n a geranium thet come from a lot 
 thet Joe Chandler's father raised from slips cut off 
 of some plants down to Boston in the ground that 
 used to belong to our great-grandfather Wilkins 'fore 
 the Revolution." 
 
 This train of reasoning seemed satisfactory, and 
 Phoebe turned to resume her book. 
 
 Copernicus intercepted her as she passed the table. 
 
 "What d'ye think o' this little phonograph, Cousin 
 Phoebe?" he said. 
 
 One of Droop's boxes stood open and beside it 
 Phoebe saw a phonograph with the usual spring mo 
 tor and brass megaphone. 
 
 67
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "I paid twenty-five fer that, secon' hand, down to 
 Keene," said the proud owner. 
 
 "There!" exclaimed Phoebe. "I've always wanted 
 to know how those things worked. I've heard 'em, 
 you know, but I've never worked one." 
 
 "It's real easy," said Droop, quite delighted to 
 find Phoebe so interested. "Ye see, when it's wound 
 up, all ye hev to do is to slip one o' these wax cylin 
 ders on here so." 
 
 He adjusted the cylinder, dropped the stylus and 
 pushed the starting lever. 
 
 Instantly the stentorian announcement rang out 
 from the megaphone. 
 
 "The Last Rose of Summer Sola Sung by Si- 
 gnora Casta Diva Edison Record!" 
 
 "Goodness gracious sakes alive !" cried Rebecca, 
 turning in affright. "Who's that?" 
 
 Her two companions raised their right hands in a 
 simultaneous appeal for silence. Then the song began. 
 
 With open eyes and mouth, the amazed Rebecca 
 drew slowly nearer, and finally took her stand di 
 rectly in front of the megaphone. 
 
 The song ended and Copernicus stopped the motor. 
 
 "Oh, ain't it lovely!" Phoebe cried. 
 
 "Well I'll be switched!" Rebecca exclaimed, 
 with slow emphasis. "Can it sing anythin' else?" 
 
 "Didn't you never hear one afore, Cousin Re 
 becca?" Droop asked. 
 
 "I never did," she replied. "What on the face 
 of the green airth does it?" 
 
 68
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 "Have ye any funny ones?" Phoebe asked, quickly, 
 fearful of receiving a long scientific lecture. 
 
 "Yes," said Droop. "Here's a nigger minstrels. 
 The's some jokes in it." 
 
 The loud preliminary announcement made Re 
 becca jump again, but while the music and the songs 
 and jokes were delivered, she stood earnestly atten 
 tive throughout, while her companions grinned and 
 giggled alternately. 
 
 "Is thet all ?" she asked at the conclusion. 
 
 "Thet's all," said Droop, as he removed the cyl 
 inder. 
 
 "Well, I don't see nothin' funny 'bout it," she said, 
 plaintively. 
 
 Droop's pride was touched. 
 
 "Ah, but that ain't all it can do!" he cried. "Here's 
 a blank cylinder. You jest talk at the machine while 
 it's runnin', an' it'll talk back all you say." 
 
 This was too much for Rebecca's credulity, and 
 Droop could not induce her to talk into the trum 
 pet. 
 
 "You can't make a fool o' me, Copernicus Droop," 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 "You try, Cousin Phoebe," he said at last. 
 
 Phoebe looked dubiously at her sister as though 
 half of opinion that her shrewd example should be 
 followed. 
 
 "You sure it'll do it?" she asked. 
 
 "Certain!" cried Copernicus, nodding his head 
 with violence. 
 
 69
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 She stood a moment leaning over with her pretty 
 lips close to the trumpet. 
 
 Then she straightened up with a face of comical 
 despair. 
 
 "I don't know what to say," she exclaimed. 
 
 Droop stopped the motor and looked about the 
 room. Suddenly his eyes brightened. 
 
 "There," he cried, pointing to the book Phoebe 
 had been reading, "read suthin' out o' that into 
 it." 
 
 Phoebe opened the book at random, and as Droop 
 started the motor again she read the following lines 
 slowly and distinctly into the trumpet: 
 
 "It is thus made clear from the indubitable evi 
 dence of the plays themselves that Francis Bacon 
 wrote the immortal works falsely ascribed to "Will 
 iam Shakespeare, and that the gigantic genius of this 
 man was the result of the possession of royal blood. 
 In this unacknowledged son of Elizabeth Tudor, 
 Queen of England, was made manifest to all coun 
 tries and for all centuries the glorious powers inher 
 ent in the regal blood of England." 
 
 "That'll do," said Droop. "Now jest hear it talk 
 back." 
 
 He substituted the repeating stylus for the record 
 ing point and set the motor in motion once more. 
 To the complete stupefaction of Rebecca, the repe 
 tition of Phoebe's words was perfect. 
 
 "Why ! It's Phoebe's voice," she began, but Phoebe 
 broke in upon her suddenly. 
 
 70
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 "Why, see the hills on each side of us, Mr. Droop," 
 she cried. 
 
 Droop glanced out and leaped a foot from the 
 ground. 
 
 "Goramighty!" he screamed, "she'll strike!" He 
 dashed to the engine-room and threw up the forward 
 edges of the aeroplanes. Instantly the vessel swooped 
 upward and the hills Phoebe had seen appeared to 
 drop into some great abyss. 
 
 The two women ran to a window and saw that 
 they were over a bleak and rocky island covered with 
 ice and snow. 
 
 Droop came to their side, quite pale with fright. 
 
 "Great Moses!" he exclaimed. "I warn't more'n 
 jest in time, I tell ye! We was a-settlin' fast. A 
 little more'n we'd ha' struck " He snapped the 
 fingers of both hands and made a gesture expressive 
 of the complete destruction which would have re 
 sulted. 
 
 "I tell you what, Mr. Droop," said Rebecca, stern 
 ly, but with a little shake in her voice, "you've got 
 to jest tend to business and navigate this thing we're 
 a-ridin' on. You can't work and play too. Don't 
 you say anythin' more to Phoebe or me till we get 
 to the pole. What time'll that be?" 
 
 "About six or half-past, I expect," said Droop, 
 humbly. "But I don't see how I can be workin' all 
 the time. The machine don't need it, an', besides, 
 I've got to eat, haven't I?" 
 
 "When it comes time fer your victuals, Phoebe'll 
 71
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 watch the windows an' the little clocks on the wall 
 while I feed ye. But don't open yer head agin now, 
 only fer necessary talkin' an' eatin', till we get there. 
 I don't want any smash-ups 'round here." 
 
 Copernicus found it expedient to obey these in 
 structions, and under Eebecca's watchful generalship 
 he was obliged to pace back and forth from engine- 
 room to window while Phosbe read and her sister 
 knitted. So passed the remainder of the day, save 
 when at dinner-time the famished man was relieved 
 by his young lieutenant. 
 
 Immediately after supper, however, they all three 
 posted themselves at the windows, on the lookout for 
 the North Pole. Droop slowed down the propeller, 
 and the aeroplanes being thus rendered less effective 
 they slowly descended. 
 
 They were passing over an endless plain of rough 
 and ragged ice. In every direction all the way to 
 the horizon nothing could be seen but the glare of 
 white. 
 
 "How'll you know when we get there?" asked 
 Phoebe. 
 
 Droop glanced apprehensively at Rebecca and re 
 plied in a whisper: 
 
 "We'll see the pole a-stickin' up. We can't go 
 wrong, you know. The Panchronicon is fixed to 
 guide itself allus due north." 
 
 "You don't need to whisper speak right up, Mr. 
 Droop," said Rebecca, sharply. 
 
 Copernicus started, looked nervously about and 
 72
 
 A CHANGE OP PLAN 
 
 then stared out of the window northward with a very 
 business-like frown. 
 
 "Is the' really an' truly a pole there?" Phcebe asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Droop, shortly. 
 
 "An' can ye see the meridians jammed together 
 like in the geographies?" asked Rebecca. 
 
 "No," said Droop, "no, indeed at least, I didn't 
 see any." 
 
 "Why, Rebecca," said Phoebe, "the meridians are 
 only conventional signs, you know. They don't " 
 
 "Hallo!" Droop cried, suddenly, "what's that?" 
 He raised a spyglass with which he had hitherto been 
 playing and directed it northward for a few seconds. 
 Then he turned with a look of relief on his face. 
 
 "It's the pole!" he exclaimed. 
 
 Phosbe snatched the spyglass and applied it to her 
 eye. 
 
 Yes, on the horizon she could discern a thin black 
 line, rising vertically from the plain of ice. Even 
 as she looked it seemed to be nearer, so rapid was 
 their progress. 
 
 Droop went to the engine-room, lessened speed 
 and brought the aeroplanes to the horizontal. He 
 could look directly forward through a thick glass port 
 directly over the starting-handle. Gradually the 
 great machine settled lower and lower. It was now 
 running quite slowly and the aeroplanes acted only 
 as parachutes as they glided still forward toward the 
 black upright line. 
 
 In silence the three waited for the approaching 
 73
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 end of this first stage of their journey. A few hun 
 dred yards south of their goal they seemed about to 
 alight, but Droop slightly inclined the aeroplanes 
 and speeded up the propeller a little. Their vessel 
 swept gently upward and northward again, like a 
 gull rising from the sea. Then Droop let it settle 
 again. Just as they were about to fall rather vio 
 lently upon the solid mass of ice below them, he 
 projected a relatively small volume of gas from be 
 neath the structure. Its reaction eased their de 
 scent, and they settled down without noise or shock. 
 
 They had arrived! 
 
 Copernicus came forward to the window and 
 pointed to a tall, stout steel pole projecting from the 
 ice a few yards to the right of the vessel. 
 
 "Thet, neighbors, is the North Pole !" he said, with 
 a sweeping wave of the hand. 
 
 For some minutes the three voyagers stood in si 
 lence gazing through the window at the famous pole. 
 This, then, was the goal of so much heroic endeav 
 or! It was to reach this complete opposite of all 
 that is ordinarily attractive that countless ambitious 
 men had suffered that so many had died! 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed Rebecca at length. "I be 
 switched ef I see what there is fer so many folks to 
 make sech a fuss about!" 
 
 Droop scratched his head thoughtfully and made 
 no reply. Surely it would have been hard to point 
 out any charms in the endless plain of opaque ice 
 hummocks, unrelieved save by that gaunt steel pole. 
 
 74 '
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 "Where's the open sea?" Rebecca asked, after a 
 few moments' pause. "Dr. Kane said the' was an 
 open sea up here." 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Kane!" said Droop, contemptuously. 
 "He's no 'count fer modern facts." 
 
 "What I can't understand," said Phoebe, "is how 
 it comes that, if nobody's ever been up here, they 
 all seem to know there's a North Pole here." 
 
 "That's a fact," Rebecca exclaimed. "How'd they 
 know about it ? The' ain't anythin' in the Bible 'bout 
 it, is the'?" 
 
 Droop looked more cheerful at this and answered 
 briskly: 
 
 "Oh, they don't know 'bout it. Ye see, that pole 
 there ain't a nat'ral product of the soil at all. Et's 
 the future man done that the man who invented 
 this Panchronicon and brought me up here before. 
 He told me how that he stuck that post in there to 
 help him run this machine 'round and 'round fer 
 cuttin' meridians." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed both sisters together. 
 
 "Yes" Droop continued. "D'ye see thet big iron 
 ring 'round the pole, lyin' on the ground?" 
 
 "I don't see any ground," said Rebecca, ruefully. 
 
 "Well, on the ice, then. Don't ye see it lyin' 
 black there against the snow?" 
 
 "Yes yes, I see it," said Phoebe. 
 
 "Well, that's what I'm goin' to hitch the holdin' 
 rope on to. You'll see how it's done presently." 
 
 He glanced at the clock. 
 75
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Seven o'clock," lie said. "I guessed mighty close 
 when I said 'twould take us twenty hours. "We left 
 Peltonville at ten-thirty last night." 
 
 "Seven o'clock!" cried Eebecca. "So 'tis. Why, 
 what's the matter with the sun. Ain't it goin' to 
 set at all?" 
 
 "Not much !" said Droop, chuckling. "Sim don't 
 set up here, Cousin Kebecca. Not until winter-time, 
 an' then et stays set till summer again." 
 
 "Well!" was the breathless reply. "An' where in 
 creation does it go when it stays set?" 
 
 "Why, Rebecca," exclaimed Phoebe, "the sun is 
 south of the equator in winter, you know." 
 
 "Shinin' on the South Pole then," Droop added, 
 nodding. 
 
 For a moment Rebecca looked from one to the 
 other of her companions, and then, realizing the ne 
 cessity of keeping her mind within its accustomed 
 sphere, she changed the subject. 
 
 "Come now the' ain't any wind to blow us away 
 now, I hope. Let's open our windows an' air out 
 those state-rooms." 
 
 She started toward her door. 
 
 "Hold on!" cried Droop, extending his arm to stop 
 her. "You don't want to fall down dead o' cold, 
 do ye?" 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Don't you know what a North Pole is like fer 
 weather an' sich?" Droop continued. "Why, Cousin 
 Rebecca, it's mos' any 'mount below zero outside. 
 
 76
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 Don't you open a window not a tiny crack if ye 
 don't want to freeze solid in a second." 
 
 "There!" Rebecca exclaimed. "You do provoke 
 me beyond anythin', Copernicus Droop! Ef I'd 
 a-knowed the kind o' way we'd had to live why, 
 there! It's wuss'n pigs!" 
 
 She marched indignantly into her room and closed 
 the door. A moment later she put out her head. 
 
 "Phoebe Wise," she said, "if you take my advice, 
 you'll make your bed an' tidy yer room at once. 
 Ain't any use waitin' any longer fer a chance to 
 air." 
 
 Phoebe smiled and moved toward her own door. 
 
 "Thet's a good idea," said Droop. "You fix yer 
 rooms an' I'll do some figurin'. Ye see I've got to 
 figur out how long it'll take us to get back six years. 
 I've a notion it'll take about eighteen hours, but I 
 ain't certain sure." 
 
 Poor Rebecca set to work in her rooms with far 
 from enviable feelings. Her curiosity had been 
 largely satisfied and the unwonted conditions were 
 proving very trying indeed. Could she have set out 
 with the prospect of returning to those magical days 
 of youth and courtship, as Droop had originally pro 
 posed, the end would have justified the means. But 
 they could not do this now if they would, for Phoebe 
 had left her baby clothes behind. Thus her disap 
 pointment added to her burdens, and she found her 
 self wishing that she had never left her comfortable 
 home, however amazing had been her adventures. . 
 
 77
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "I could'v aired my bed at least," she muttered, 
 as she turned the mattress of her couch in the soli 
 tude of her chamber. 
 
 She found the long-accustomed details of cham 
 ber work a comfort and solace, and, as she finally 
 gazed about the tidy room at her completed work, 
 she felt far more contented with her lot than she 
 had felt before beginning. 
 
 "I guess I'll go help Phoebe," she thought. "The 
 girl is that slow!" 
 
 As she came from her room she found Copernicus 
 leaning over the table, one hand buried in his hair 
 and the other wielding a pencil. He was absorbed 
 in arithmetical calculations. 
 
 She did not disturb him, but turned and entered 
 Phoebe's room without the formality of knocking. 
 As she opened the door, there was a sharp clatter, 
 as of a door or lid slamming. 
 
 "Who's there?" cried Phoebe, sharply. 
 
 She was seated on the floor in front of her trunk, 
 and she looked up at her sister with a flushed and 
 startled face. 
 
 "Oh, it's you!" she said, guiltily. 
 
 Rebecca glanced at the bed. 
 
 It had not been touched. 
 
 "Well, I declare!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Ain't 
 you ever agoin' to fix up your room, Phcebe 
 Wise?" 
 
 "Oh, in a minute, Rebecca. I was just agoin' over 
 my trunk a minute." 
 
 78
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 She leaned back against the foot of the bed, and 
 folding her hands gazed pensively into vacancy, while 
 Rebecca stared at her in astonishment. 
 
 "Do you know," Phoebe went on, "I've ben think- 
 in' it's awful mean not to give you a chance to go 
 back to 1876, Rebecca. Joe Chandler's a mighty 
 fine man!" 
 
 Rebecca gave vent to an unintelligible murmur 
 and turned to Phoebe's bed. She grasped the mat 
 tress and gave it a vicious shake as she turned it over. 
 She was probably only transferring to this inoffen 
 sive article a process which she would gladly have 
 applied elsewhere. 
 
 There was a long silence while Rebecca resent 
 fully drew the sheets into proper position, smoothed 
 them with swift pats and caressings, and tucked them 
 neatly under at head and sides. Then came a soft, 
 apologetic voice. 
 
 "Rebecca!" 
 
 The spinster made no reply but applied herself to 
 a mathematically accurate adjustment of the top 
 edge of the upper sheet. 
 
 "Rebecca!" 
 
 The second call was a little louder than the first, 
 and there was a queer half-sobbing, half-laughing 
 catch in the speaker's voice that commanded atten 
 tion. 
 
 Rebecca looked up. 
 
 Phoebe was still sitting on the floor beside her 
 trunk, but the trunk was open now and the young 
 
 79
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 woman's rosy face was peering with, a pathetic smile 
 over a what! could it be! 
 
 Rebecca leaned forward in amazement. 
 
 Yes, it was! In Phoebe's outstretched hands was 
 the dearest possible little baby's undergarment all 
 of cambric, with narrow ribbons at the neck. 
 
 For a few seconds the two sisters looked at each 
 other over this unexpected barrier. Then Phoebe's 
 lips quivered into a pathetic curve and she buried 
 her face in the little garment, laughing and crying 
 at once. 
 
 Rebecca dropped helplessly into a chair. 
 
 "Phoebe Martin Wise!" she exclaimed. "Do you 
 mean hev you brought ?" 
 
 She fell silent, and then, darting at her sister, she 
 took her head in her hands and deposited a sudden 
 kiss on the smooth bright gold-brown hair and 
 whisked out of Phoebe's room and into her own. 
 
 In the meantime Copernicus was too deeply ab 
 sorbed in his calculations to notice these comings and 
 goings. Apparently he had been led into the most 
 abstruse mathematical regions. Nothing short of 
 the triple integration of transcendental functions 
 should have been adequate to produce those lines 
 of anxious care in his face as he slowly covered sheet 
 after sheet with figures. 
 
 He was at length startled from his preoccupation 
 by a gentle voice at his side. 
 
 "Can't I help, Mr. Droop?" 
 
 It was Phoebe, who, having made all right in her 
 80
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 room and washed all traces of tears from her face, 
 had come to note Droop's progress. 
 
 Dazed, he raised his head and looked unexpect 
 edly into a lovely face made the more attractive by 
 an expression only given by a sense of duty un 
 selfishly done. 
 
 "I I wish'd you'd call me Cousin Copernicus," 
 he said for the fifth time. 
 
 She picked up one of the sheets on which he had 
 been scribbling as though she had not heard him, 
 and said: 
 
 "Why, dear me ! How comes it you have so much 
 figurin' to do?" 
 
 "Well," he began, in a querulous tone, "it beats 
 all creation how many things a feller has to work 
 out at once! Ye see, I've got a rope forty foot long 
 that's got to tie the Panchronicon to the North Pole 
 while we swing 'round to cut meridians. Now, then, 
 the question is, How many times an hour shall we 
 swing 'round to get to 1892, an' how long's it goin' 
 to take an' how fast must I make the old thing hum 
 along?" 
 
 "But you said eighteen hours by the clock would 
 do it." " 
 
 "Well, I jest guessed at that by the time the fu 
 ture man an' I took to go back five weeks, ye know. 
 But I can't seem to figur it out right." 
 
 Phoebe seated herself at the table and took up a 
 blank sheet of paper. 
 
 "Please lend me your pencil," she said. "Now, 
 81
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 then, every time you whirl once 'round the pole to 
 westward you lose one day, don't you?" 
 
 "That's it," said Droop, cheerfully. "Cuttin' 
 twenty-four meridians " 
 
 "And how many days in twenty-two years?" Phoebe 
 broke in. 
 
 "You mean in six years." 
 
 "Why, no," she replied, glancing at Droop with 
 a mischievous smile, "it's twenty-two years back to 
 1876, ain't it?" 
 
 "To "76 why, but " 
 
 He caught sight of her face and stopped short. 
 
 There came a pleased voice from one of the state 
 rooms. 
 
 "Yes, we've decided to go all the way back, Mr. 
 Droop." 
 
 It was Rebecca. 
 
 She came forward and stood beside her sister, 
 placing one hand affectionately upon her shoulder. 
 
 Droop leaned back in his chair with both hands 
 on the edge of the table. 
 
 "Goin' all the way! Why, but then " 
 
 He leaped to his feet with a radiant face. 
 
 "Great Jumpin' Jerusha !" he cried. 
 
 Slapping his thigh he began to pace excitedly up 
 and down. 
 
 "Why, then, we'll get all the big inventions out 
 kodak an' phonograph and all. We'll marry Joe 
 Chandler an' set things agoin' in two shakes f er mill 
 ions." 
 
 82
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 "Eight thousand and thirty-five," said Phoebe in 
 a quiet voice, putting her pencil to her lips. "We'll 
 have to whirl round the pole eight thousand and 
 thirty-five times." 
 
 "Whose goin' to keep count?" asked Rebecca, 
 cheerfully. Ah, how different it all seemed now! 
 Every dry detail was of interest. 
 
 Phoebe looked up at Droop, who now resumed his 
 seat, somewhat sobered. 
 
 "Don't have to keep count," he replied. "See 
 that indicator?" he continued, pointing to a dial in 
 the ceiling which had not been noticed before. "That 
 reads May 3, 1898, now, don't it? Well, it's fixed 
 to keep always tellin' the right date. It counts the 
 whirls we make an' keeps tabs on every day we go 
 backward. Any time all ye hev to do is to read that 
 thing an' it'll tell ye jest what day 'tis." 
 
 "Then what do you want to calculate how often 
 to whirl round?" asked Phcebe, in disgusted tones. 
 
 "Well, ye see I want to plan out how long it'll 
 take," Droop replied. "I want to go slow so as to 
 avoid side weight but I don't want to go too slow." 
 
 "I see," said Phcebe. "Well, then, how many 
 times a minute did the future man take you when 
 you whirled back five weeks?" 
 
 " 'Bout two times a minute." 
 
 "That's one hundred and twenty times every hour. 
 Did you feel much side weight then?" 
 
 "Scarcely any." 
 
 "Well, let's see. Divide eight thousand and thir- 
 83
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 tj-five whirls by one hundred and twenty, an' you 
 get sixty-seven hours. So that, ef we go at that rate 
 it'll be two days and nineteen hours 'fore we get 
 back to 1876." 
 
 "Don't talk about days," Droop objected. "It's 
 sixty-seven hours by the clock but it's twenty-two 
 years less than no time in days, ye know." 
 
 "Sixty-seven hours," said Phoebe. "Well, that 
 ain't so bad, is it? Why not go round twice a min 
 ute?" 
 
 "We can't air our beds fer three days, Phoebe," 
 said Rebecca. 
 
 "But if we go much faster, we'll all be sick with 
 this side weight trouble that Mr. Droop tells 
 about." 
 
 "I vote fer twice a minute," said Droop. And so 
 twice a minute was adopted. 
 
 "Air ye goin' to start to-night, Mr. Droop?" asked 
 Rebecca.^ 
 
 "Well, no," he replied. "I think it's best to wait 
 till to-morrow. Ye see, the power that runs the 
 Panchronicon is got out o' the sunlight that falls on 
 it. Of course, we're not all run out o' power by a 
 good lot, but we've used considerable, an' I think 
 it's a little mite safer to lie still fer a few hours here 
 an 'take in power from the sun. Ye see, it'll shine 
 steady on us all night, an' we'll store up enough 
 power to be sure o' reachin' 1ST 6 in one clip." 
 
 "Well," said Rebecca, "ef thet's the plan, I'm goin' 
 to bed right now. It's after eight o'clock, an' I didn't 
 
 84
 
 A CHANGE OF PLAN 
 
 get to sleep las' night till goodness knows when. 
 Good-night! Hedn't you better go, too, Phoebe?" 
 
 "I guess I will," said Phoebe, turning to Coperni 
 cus. "Good-night, Mr. Droop." 
 
 "Good-night, Cousin Phoebe good-night, Cousin 
 Rebecca. I'll go to bed myself, I b'lieve." 
 
 The two doors were closed and Droop proceeded 
 to draw the steel shutters in order to produce arti 
 ficially the gloom not vouchsafed by a too-persistent 
 sun. 
 
 In half an hour all were asleep within the now 
 motionless conveyance. 
 
 85
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE 
 
 ALL were up betimes when the faithful clock an 
 nounced that it ought to be morning. As for the 
 sun, as though resenting the liberties about to be 
 taken by these adventurers with its normal functions, 
 it refused to set, and was found by the three travel 
 lers at the same altitude as the night before. 
 
 Promptly after breakfast Droop proceeded to don 
 a suit of furs which he drew from a cupboard within 
 the engine-room. 
 
 "Ye'd better hev suthin' hot ready when I come in 
 again," he said. "I 'xpect I'll be nigh froze to death." 
 
 He drew on a huge cap of bear's fur which ex 
 tended from his crown to his shoulders. There was 
 a small hole in front which exposed only his nose 
 and eyes. 
 
 "My, but you do look just like a pictur of Kris 
 Kringle!" laughed Phoebe. "Don't he, Rebecca?" 
 
 Rebecca came to the kitchen door wiping a dish 
 with slow circular movements of her towel. 
 
 "I don't guess you'll freeze very much with all 
 that on," she remarked. 
 
 "Thet shows you don't know what seventy or eighty 
 below zero means," said a muffled voice from within 
 
 86
 
 DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE 
 
 the fur cap. "You'll hev suthin' hot, won't ye?" 
 Droop continued, looking appealingly at Phoebe. 
 
 "The'll be a pot o' good hot tea," she said. "That'll 
 warm you all right." 
 
 Droop thought of something more stimulating and 
 fragrant, but said nothing as he returned to the cup 
 board. Here he drew forth an apparently endless 
 piece of stout rope. This he wound in a thick coil 
 and hung over his head. 
 
 "Now, then," he said, "when I get down you shet 
 the door at the top of the stairs tight, coz jest's soon's 
 I open the outside door, thet hall's goin' to freeze 
 up solid." 
 
 "All right!" said Phoebe. "I'll see to it." 
 
 Droop descended the stairs with a heavy tread, 
 and as he reached the foot Phoabe closed the upper 
 door, which she now noticed was provided with 
 weather-strips. 
 
 Then the two women stood at the windows on the 
 right-hand side of the vessel and watched Droop as 
 he walked toward the pole. He raised the huge iron 
 ring, snapping over it a special coupling hook fixed 
 to the end of the rope. 
 
 Then he backed toward the vessel, unrolling the 
 coil of rope as he moved away from the pole. Evi 
 dently they were within the forty-foot limit from 
 the pole, for Droop had some rope to spare when 
 he at length reached under the machine to attach 
 the end to a ring which the sisters could not see. 
 
 He emerged from beneath the bulging side of the 
 87
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 vessel swinging his arms and blowing a mighty vol 
 ume of steam, which turned to snow as it left him. 
 As he made directly for the entrance again, Phoebe 
 ran to the kitchen. 
 
 "Poor man, he'll be perished!" she exclaimed. 
 
 As Droop entered the room, bringing with him a 
 bitter atmosphere, Phcebe appeared with a large cup 
 of hot tea. 
 
 "Here, Mr. Droop," she said, "drink this quick!" 
 
 Copernicus pulled off his cap and sat down to drink 
 his tea without a word. When he had finished it, he 
 pulled back his chair with a sigh. 
 
 "Whillikins! But 'twas cold!" he exclaimed. 
 "Seems mos' like heaven to get into a nice warm 
 room like this!" 
 
 "An' did ye get every thin' done right?" Kebecca 
 asked. 
 
 "I guess I did," he said, emphatically. "I don't 
 want to take no two bites out o' that kind o' cherry." 
 
 He rose and proceeded to remove his fur coverings. 
 
 "Goin' to start right now?" said Phoebe. 
 
 "Might's well, I guess." 
 
 He proceeded to the engine-room, followed by 
 Phcebe, who watched his actions with the greatest 
 interest. 
 
 "What you doin' with that handle?" she asked. 
 
 "That sets the airyplane on the uptilt. I'm only 
 settin' it a mite jest 'nough to keep the machine 
 from sinkin' down when we get to movin'." 
 
 "How are you goin' to lift us up?" 
 88
 
 "Just let out a mite o' gas below," said Droop. 
 He suited the action to the word, and, with a tremen 
 dous hissing beneath it, the vessel rose slowly. 
 
 Droop pulled the starting lever and they moved 
 forward with increasing speed. When they had gath 
 ered way, he shut off the gas escape and carefully 
 readjusted the aeroplanes until the machine as a 
 whole moved horizontally. 
 
 There was felt a slight jerk as they reached the 
 end of the rope, and then they began to move in a 
 circle from east to west. 
 
 Phoebe glanced at the clock. 
 
 "Just five minutes past eight," she said. 
 
 The sun was pouring its beams into the right-hand 
 windows when they started, but the shafts of light 
 now began to sweep circularly across the floor, and 
 in a few moments, as they faced the sun, it ceased 
 to shine in from the right. Immediately afterward 
 it shone in at the left-hand windows and circled slow 
 ly around until again they were in shadow with the 
 sun behind them. 
 
 Droop took out his watch and timed their revolu 
 tions by the sun's progress from window to window. 
 
 " 'Bout one to the minute," he remarked. "Guess 
 I'll speed her up a mite." 
 
 Carefully he regulated the speed, timing their 
 revolutions accurately. 
 
 "There !" he said at length. "I guess that's pretty 
 nigh two to the minute. D'ye feel any side weight?" 
 he said, addressing his companions. 
 
 89
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "No," said Rebecca. 
 
 Phoebe shook her head. 
 
 "You manage right well, Mr. Droop," she said. 
 "You must have practised a good deal." 
 
 "Oh, not much," he replied, greatly pleased. "The 
 future man showed me how to work it three four 
 times. It's simple 'nough when ye understand the 
 principles." 
 
 These remarks brought a new idea to Rebecca's 
 mind. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Droop," she exclaimed, "whatever's the 
 use o' you goin' back to 1876! "Why don't ye jest 
 set up as the inventor o' this machine? I'm sure 
 thet ought to make yer everlastin' fortune !" 
 
 "Oh, I thought o' that," he said. "But it's one 
 thing to know how to work a thing an' it's a sight 
 different to know how it's made an' all that. The 
 future man tried to explain all the new scientific 
 principles that was mixed into it fer makin' power 
 an' all but I couldn't understand that part at 
 all." 
 
 "An' besides," exclaimed Phoebe, "it's a heap more 
 fun to be the only ones can use the thing, I think." 
 
 "Yes seems like fun's all we're thinkin' of," said 
 Rebecca, rising and moving toward the kitchen. 
 "We're jest settin' round doin' nothin'. I'll finish 
 with the breakfast things if you'll put to rights and 
 dust, Phoebe. We can't make beds till night with 
 the windows tight shut." 
 
 These suggestions were followed by the two worn- 
 90
 
 DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE 
 
 en, while Droop, picking up the newspaper which 
 Rebecca had brought, sat down to read. 
 
 After a long term, of quiet reading, his attention 
 was distracted by Rebecca's voice. 
 
 "I declare to goodness, Phoebe!" she was saying. 
 "Seems 's if every chance you get, you go to readin' 
 those old letters." 
 
 "Well, the's one or two that's spelled so funny and 
 written so badly that I haven't been able yet to read 
 them," Phoebe replied. 
 
 Droop looked over his paper. Phoebe and her sis 
 ter were seated near one of the windows on the oppo 
 site side. 
 
 "P'raps I could help ye, Cousin Phcebe," he said. 
 "I've got mighty strong eyesight." 
 
 "Oh, 'tain't a question of eyesight," Phoebe re 
 plied, laughing. 
 
 "Oh, I see," said Droop, smiling slyly, "letters 
 from some young feller, eh?" 
 
 He winked knowingly at Rebecca, who drew her 
 self up indignantly and looked severely down at her 
 knitting. 
 
 Phoebe blushed, but replied quite calmly: 
 
 "Yes some of them from a young man, but they 
 weren't any of them written to me." 
 
 "No?" said Droop. "Who was they to 'f I may 
 ask?" 
 
 "They were all written to this lady." 
 
 Phcebe held something out for Droop's inspection, 
 and he walked over to take it. 
 
 91
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 He recognized at once the miniature on ivory 
 which he had seen once before in Peltonville. 
 
 "Well," he said, taking the portrait from her and 
 eying it with his head on one side, "if ye hadn't said 
 'twasn't you, I'd certainly a-thought 'twas. I'd mos' 
 sworn 'twas your photygraph, Cousin Phoebe. Who 
 is it, anyway?" 
 
 "It isn't anybody," she replied, "but it was Mis 
 tress Mary Burton of Burton Hall. I'm one of her 
 descendants, an' these are some letters she had with 
 her in this funny old carved box when she disap 
 peared with her lover. They fled to Holland and 
 were married there, the story goes, an' one o' their 
 children came over in the early days o' New England. 
 He brought the letters an' the picture with him." 
 
 "Well, now! I want to know!" exclaimed Droop, 
 in great admiration. " 'Twouldn't be perlite, I 
 s'pose, to ask to hear some o' them letters ?" 
 
 "Would you like to hear some of them?" Phoebe 
 asked. 
 
 "I would fer a fact," he replied. 
 
 "Well, bring your chair over here and I'll read 
 you one," she said. 
 
 Droop seated himself near the two sisters and 
 Phoebe unfolded a large and rather rough sheet of 
 paper, yellow with age, on which Droop perceived 
 a bold scrawl in a faded ink. 
 
 "This seems to have been from Mary Burton's 
 father," Phoebe said. "I don't think he can have 
 been a very nice man. This is what he says: 
 
 92
 
 DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE 
 
 " 'Dear Poll' horrid nickname, isn't it?" 
 
 "Seems so to me," said Droop. 
 
 " 'Dear Poll I'm starting behind the grays for 
 London, on my way, as you know ere this, to be 
 knighted by her Majesty. I send this ahead by Greg 
 ory on Bess she being fast enow for my purpose 
 which is to get thee straight out of the grip of 
 that' " 
 
 Phoebe hesitated. 
 
 "He uses a bad word there," she said, in a low 
 tone. "I'll go on and leave that out." 
 
 "Yes, do," said Droop. 
 
 " 'That aunt of thine,' " she continued, read 
 ing. " 'I know her tricks and I learn how she hath 
 suffered that' " 
 
 "There's another," said Phoebe. 
 
 "Skip it," said Droop, gravely. 
 
 " That milk-and-water popinjay to come 
 
 courting my Poll. So see you follow Gregory, mis 
 tress, and without wait or parley come with him to 
 the Peacock Inn, where I lie to-night. The grays 
 are in fine fettle and thy black mare grows too fat 
 for want of exercise. Thy mother-in-law commands 
 thy instant return with Gregory, having much busi 
 ness forward with preparing gowns and fallals against 
 our presentation to her Majesty.' ' 
 
 "It is signed 'Isaac Burton,' " said Phcebe, "and 
 see, the paper was sealed with a steel gauntlet." 
 
 Droop examined the seal carefully and then re 
 turned it, saying: 
 
 93
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Looks to me like a bunch of 'sparagus tumbled 
 over on one side." 
 
 Phoebe laughed. 
 
 "But what always interests me most in this letter 
 is the postscript," she said. "It reads: 'Thy mother 
 thinks thou wilt make better speed if I make thee 
 to know that the players thou wottest of " 
 
 "What's a 'wottest?" said Droop, in puzzled 
 tones. 
 
 "Wottest means knowest haven't you read 
 Shakespeare?" 
 
 "No," said Droop. 
 
 " 'The players thou wottest of are to stop at the 
 Peacock, and will be giving some sport there.' 
 
 "Now, those players always interest me," Phoebe 
 continued. "Somehow I can't help but believe that 
 William Shakespeare " 
 
 "Fiddle ends!" Rebecca interrupted. "I've heard 
 that talk fifty-leven times an' I'm pinin' fer relief. 
 Mr. Droop, would you mind tellin' us what the time 
 o' year is now. Seems to me that sun has whirled 
 in an' out o' that window 'nough times to bring us 
 back to the days o' creation." 
 
 Droop consulted the date indicator and announced 
 that it was now September 5, 1897. 
 
 "Not a year yet !" cried the two women together. 
 
 "Why, no," said Copernicus. "Ye see, we are 
 takin' about three hours to lose a year." 
 
 "Fer the lands sakes!" cried Rebecca. "Can't we 
 go a little faster?" 
 
 94
 
 DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE 
 
 "My gracious, yes!" said Droop. "But I'm 'fraid 
 o' the side weight fer ye." 
 
 "I'd rather hev side weight than wait forever," 
 said Rebecca, with a grim smile. 
 
 "D'ye think ye could stand a little more speed, 
 Cousin Phoebe?" said Droop. 
 
 "We might try," she replied. 
 
 "Well, let's try, then," he said, and turned prompt 
 ly to the engine-room. 
 
 Very soon the difference in speed was felt, and 
 as they found themselves travelling more rapidly in 
 a circle, the centrifugal force now became distinctly 
 perceptible. 
 
 The two women found themselves obliged to lean 
 somewhat toward the central pole to counteract this 
 tendency, and as Copernicus emerged from the en 
 gine-room he came toward the others at a decided 
 angle to the floor. 
 
 "There! now ye feel the side weight," he ex 
 claimed. 
 
 "My, ain't it funny!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Thet's 
 the way I've felt afore now when the cars was goin' 
 round a curve kinder topplin' like." 
 
 "Why, that is the centrifugal force," Phoebe said, 
 with dignity. 
 
 "It's the side weight that's what I call it," Droop 
 replied, obstinately, and for some time there was 
 silence. 
 
 "How many years back are we makin' by the hour 
 now, Mr. Droop?" Rebecca asked at length. 
 
 95
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Jest a little over two hours fer a year now," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Well," said Rebecca, in a discontented tone, "I 
 think the old Panchronicle is rayther a slow actin' 
 concern, considerin' th' amount o' side weight it 
 makes. I declare I'm mos' tired out leanin' over to 
 one side, like old man Titus's paralytic cow." 
 
 Phoebe laughed and Droop replied: 
 
 "If ye can't stand it or set it, why lay, Cousin 
 Rebecca. The's good settles all 'round." 
 
 With manifestly injured feelings Droop hunted 
 up a book and sat down to read in silence. The 
 Panchronicon was his pet and he did not relish its 
 being thus contemned. 
 
 The remainder of the morning was spent in almost 
 completely silent work or reading. Droop scarce 
 took his eyes from his book. Phoebe spent part of 
 the time deep in the Baconian work and part of the 
 time contemplating the monotonous landscape. Re 
 becca was dreaming of her future past or her past 
 future, while her knitting grew steadily upon its 
 needles. 
 
 The midday meal was duly prepared and disposed 
 of, and, as the afternoon wore away, the three travel 
 lers began to examine the date indicator and to ask 
 themselves surreptitiously whether or not they act 
 ually felt any younger. They took sly peeps at each 
 other's faces to observe, if possible, any signs of re 
 turning youth. 
 
 By supper-time there was certainly a less aged air 
 96
 
 DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE 
 
 about each of the three and the elders inwardly con 
 gratulated themselves upon the unmistakable effects 
 of another twelve hours. 
 
 Not long after the supper dishes had been washed, 
 Rebecca took Phoebe aside and said: 
 
 "Phoebe, it seems to me you'd ought to be goin' 
 to bed right soon, now. You're only 'bout eighteen 
 years old at present, an' you'll certainly begin to 
 grow smaller again very soon. It wouldn't hardly 
 be respectable fer ye to do yer shrinkin' out here." 
 
 This view of the probabilities had not yet struck 
 Phoebe. 
 
 "Why, no!" she exclaimed, rather startled. "I 
 I don't know 's I thought about it. But I certainly 
 don't want Mr. Droop to see me when my clothes 
 begin to hang loose." 
 
 Then a new problem presented itself. 
 
 "Come to think of it, Rebecca," she said, dolefully, 
 "what'll I do all the time between full-grown and 
 baby size? I didn't bring anything but the littlest 
 clothes, you know." 
 
 "Thet's so," said Rebecca, thoughtfully. Then, 
 after a pause : "I don't see but ye'll hev to stay abed, 
 Phoebe, till we get to th' end," she said, sympathet 
 ically. 
 
 "There it is," said Phcebe, crossly. "Gettin' sent 
 to bed a'ready even before I expected it." 
 
 "But 'tain't that, Phoebe," said Rebecca, with great 
 concern. '1 ain't sendin' ye to bed but but 
 whatever else can ye do with a man in the house!" 
 
 97
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Phoebe replied, with a toss of her chin. 
 
 She crossed the room and held out her hand to 
 Droop. 
 
 "Good-night, Mr. Droop," she said. 
 
 Surprised at this sudden demonstration of friend 
 ship, he took her hand and tipped his head to one 
 side as he looked into her face. 
 
 "Next time you see me, I don't suppose you'll know 
 me, I'll be so little," she said, trying to laugh. 
 
 "I I wish't you'd call me Cousin Copernicus," 
 he said, coaxingly. 
 
 "Well, p'raps I will when I see ye again," she re 
 plied, freeing her hand with a slight effort. 
 
 Rebecca retired shortly after her sister and Coper 
 nicus was once more left alone. He rubbed his hands 
 slowly, with a sense of satisfaction, and glanced at 
 the date dial. 
 
 "July 2, 1892," he said to himself. "I'm only thir 
 ty-four years old. Don't feel any older than that, 
 either." 
 
 He walked deliberately to the shutters, closed 
 them and turned on the electric light. Surrounded 
 thus by the wonted conditions of night, it was not 
 long before he began to yawn. He removed his coat 
 and shoes and lay back in an easy chair to meditate 
 at ease. He faced toward the pole so that the "side 
 weight" would tend to press him gently backward 
 into his chair and therefore not annoy him by calling 
 for constant opposing effort. 
 
 He soon dozed off and was whisked through a quick 
 98
 
 DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE 
 
 succession of fantastic dreams. Then he awoke sud 
 denly, and as though someone had spoken to him. 
 Listening intently, he only heard the low murmur 
 of the machinery below and the ticking of the many 
 clocks and indicators all about him. 
 
 He closed his eyes, intending to take up that last 
 dream where he had been interrupted. He recol 
 lected that he had been on the very point of some 
 delightful consummation, but just what it was he 
 could not recall. 
 
 Sleep evaded him, however. His mind reverted 
 to the all-important question of the recovered years. 
 He began to plan again. 
 
 This time he should not make his former mistakes. 
 No he would not only make immense wealth 
 promptly with the great inventions, he would give 
 up liquor forever. It would be so easy in 1876, for 
 he had never taken up the unfortunate habit until 
 1888. 
 
 Then rich, young, sober, he would seek out a 
 charming, rosy, good-natured girl something of the 
 type of Phoebe, for instance. They would be mar 
 ried and 
 
 He got up at this and looked at the clock. It was 
 after midnight. He looked at the date indicator. 
 It said October 9, 1890. 
 
 "Well, come!" he thought. "The old Panchron- 
 icon is a steady vessel. She's keepin' right on." 
 
 He put on his shoes again, for something made him 
 nervous and he wished to walk up and down. 
 
 99
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 The first thing he did after his shoes were donned 
 was to gaze at himself in the mirror. 
 
 "Don't look any younger," he thought, "but I feel 
 so." He walked across the room once or twice. 
 
 "Shucks!" he exclaimed. "Couldn't expect to look 
 younger in these old duds, an' at this time o' night, 
 too tired like I am." 
 
 For some time he walked up and down, keeping 
 his eyes resolutely from the date indicator. Finally 
 he threw himself down in the chair again and closed 
 his eyes, nervous and exhausted. He did not feel 
 sleepy, but he must have dozed, for the next time 
 he looked at the clock it was half-past one. 
 
 He put out the light and crossed to a settle. Here 
 he lay at full length courting sleep. When he awoke, 
 he thought, refreshed and alert, he would show his 
 youth unmistakably. 
 
 But sleep would not return. He tried every posi 
 tion, every trick for propitiating Morpheus. All in 
 vain. 
 
 At length he rose again and turned on the light. 
 It was two-fifteen. This time he could not resist 
 looking at the date indicator. 
 
 It said September 30, 1889. 
 
 Again he looked into the glass. 
 
 "My, but I'm nervous!" he thought as he turned 
 away, disappointed. "I look older than ever!" 
 
 As he paced the floor there all alone, he began to 
 doubt for the first time the success of his plan. 
 
 "It must work right!" he said aloud. "Didn't I 
 100
 
 DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE 
 
 go back five weeks with that future man? Didn't 
 he " 
 
 A fearful thought struck him. Had he perhaps 
 made a mistake? Had they been cutting meridians 
 the wrong way? 
 
 But no; the indicator could not be wrong, and that 
 registered a constantly earlier date. 
 
 "Ah, I know!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I'll ask 
 Cousin Phrebe." 
 
 He reflected a moment. Yes the idea was a good 
 one. She would be only fifteen years old by this 
 time, and must certainly have changed to an extent 
 of which he was at his age incapable. Besides, she 
 had been asleep, and nervous insomnia could not be 
 responsible for retarding the evidences of youth in 
 her case. His agony of dread lest this great experi 
 ment fail made him bold. 
 
 He walked directly to Pho3be's door and knocked 
 first softly, then more loudly. 
 
 "Cousin PlHfibe Cousin Phrebe," he said. 
 
 After a few calls and knockings, there came a 
 sleepy reply from within. 
 
 "Well what who is it?" 
 
 "It's Cousin Copernicus," he said. "Please tell 
 me. Hev ye shrunk any yet?" 
 
 "What how?" The tones were very sleepy in 
 deed. 
 
 "Hev ye shrunk any yet? Are ye growin' littler 
 in there? Oh, please feel fer the footboard with 
 yer toe!" 
 
 101
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 He waited and heard a rustling as of someone 
 moving in bed. 
 
 "Did ye feel the footboard?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes kicked it good now let me sleep." She 
 was ill-natured with much drowsiness. 
 
 Poor Droop staggered away from the door as 
 though he had been struck. 
 
 All had failed, then. They were circling uselessly. 
 Those inventions would never be his. The golden 
 dreams he had been nursing oh, impossible ! It was 
 unbearable ! 
 
 He put both hands to his head and walked across 
 the room. He paused half-consciously before a small 
 closet partly hidden in the wall. 
 
 With an instinctive movement, he touched a spring 
 and the door slid back. He drew from the cupboard 
 thus revealed two bottles and a glass and returned 
 to seat himself at the table. 
 
 A half an hour later the Panchronicon, circling 
 in the outer brightness and silence, contained three 
 unconscious travellers, and one of them sat with his 
 arms flung across the table supporting his head, and 
 beside him an empty bottle. 
 
 102
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Rebecca was the first of the three to waken. Over 
 her small window she had hung a black shawl to keep 
 out the light, and upon this screen were thrown re 
 current flashes of sunlight. 
 
 "Still a-swingin'," she murmured. "Wonder how 
 fur back we be now!" 
 
 She was herself surprised at the eagerness she felt 
 to observe at last the results of their extraordinary 
 attempt. 
 
 She rose quickly and was very soon ready to leave 
 her room. She was longing to see Phoebe Phcebe 
 as she had been when a girl. 
 
 Opening her door, she was astonished to find the 
 lamps of the main room aglow and to see Copernicus 
 in his shirt-sleeves, asleep with his head on the table. 
 
 As she stepped out of her own room, her senses 
 were offended by the odor of alcohol. With horror 
 she realized that rum, the spirit of all the sources of 
 evil, had found its way into their abode. 
 
 She entertained so violent a repugnance for liquors 
 and for men under their influence that she could not 
 bring herself to approach Copernicus. 
 
 "He's gone an' got drunk again," she muttered, 
 103
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 glaring with helpless anger at the bottles and then 
 at him. 
 
 "Mister Droop! Copernicus Droop!" she cried in 
 a high, sharp voice. 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 She looked about her for something to prod him 
 with. There was an arm-chair on casters beside her 
 door. She drew this to her and pushed it with all 
 her might toward the unconscious man. 
 
 The chair struck violently against Droop's seat, 
 and even caused his body to sway slightly, but he 
 still slept and gave no sign. 
 
 "That settles it!" she exclaimed, with mingled dis 
 gust and alarm in her face. 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 It was Phoebe who called. 
 
 "It's me," said Rebecca. "Can I come in?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Rebecca walked into Phoebe's room, which she 
 found darkened like her own. Her sister was in bed. 
 
 "What ever happened to you?" Phoebe asked. 
 "Sounded as though ye'd fallen down or somethin'." 
 
 Rebecca stood stiffly with her back to the closed 
 door, her hands folded before her. 
 
 "Copernicus Droop is tight! Dead drunk!" she 
 exclaimed, with a shaking voice. 
 
 "Drunk!" cried Phoebe. "Lands sakes! an' " 
 She looked about her with alarm. "Then what's hap 
 pened to the machine?" she asked. 
 
 "Whirlin', whirlin', same as ever! Cuttin' merid- 
 104
 
 SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 
 
 ians or sausage meat fer all I care. I jest wish to 
 goodness an' all creation I'd never ben sech a plumb 
 born nateral fool as to oh, wouldn't I like to jest 
 shake that man!" she broke out, letting her anger 
 gain the upper hand. 
 
 Then Phoebe recalled their situation and their ex 
 pectations of the night before. 
 
 "Why, then I ought to be gettin' little pretty fast," 
 she said, feeling her arms. "I don't see 's I've shrunk 
 a mite, hev I?" 
 
 "No more'n I hev!" Rebecca exclaimed, hotly. 
 "Nor you won't, nuther. Ye might jest's well make 
 up yer mind to it thet the whole business is foolish 
 folderols. We're a nice couple o' geese, we are, to 
 come out here to play 'Here we go round the mul 
 berry bush' with the North Pole an' all along of 
 a shif'less, notorious slave o' rum!" 
 
 She plumped herself into a chair and glared at 
 the darkened window as though fascinated by those 
 ever-returning flashes of sunlight. 
 
 "Well well well!" murmured Phcebe. 
 
 She was much disappointed, and yet somehow she 
 could not avoid a certain pleasure in the thought 
 that at least there was no fear of a return to child 
 hood. 
 
 "But what're we goin' to do?" she asked at length. 
 "If Mr. Droop's so tight he can't manage the ma 
 chine, what'll we do. Here we are tied up to the 
 North Pole " 
 
 "Oh, drat the old Panchronicon!" cried Rebecca. 
 105
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Then rising in her wrath, she continued with ener 
 gy : "The's one thing I'm goin' to do right this blessed 
 minute. I'm goin' to draw a hull bucket o' cold 
 water an' throw it over that mis' able critter in there ! 
 Think o' him sleepin' on the table the table as we 
 eat our victuals on!" 
 
 "JSTo no. Don't try to wake him up first!" cried 
 Phoebe. "Let's have breakfast we can have it in 
 the kitchen an' then you can douse him afterward. 
 Just think of the wipin' an' cleanin' we'll have to do 
 after it. We'll be starved if we wait breakfast for 
 all that ruction!" 
 
 Rebecca reflected a moment. Then: 
 
 "I guess ye're right, Phoebe," she said. "My, won't 
 that carpet look a sight! I'll go right an' fix up some- 
 thin' to eat, though goodness knows, I'm not hun 
 gry." 
 
 She left Phoebe to dress and made a wide circuit 
 to avoid even approaching the table on her way to 
 the kitchen. Not long afterward she was followed 
 by her sister, who took a similar roundabout path, 
 for Phoebe was quite as much in horror of drink and 
 drinkers as Rebecca. 
 
 She glanced at the date indicator as she passed it. 
 
 "My sakes!" she said, as she entered the kitchen, 
 "it's March 25, 1887. Why, then's the time that I 
 had the measles so bad. Don't you remember when 
 I was thirteen years old an' Dr. " 
 
 Rebecca broke in with a snort. 
 
 "Eighty-seven grandmothers!" she exclaimed. 
 106
 
 SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 
 
 "Don't you get to frettin' 'bout gettin' the measles 
 or anything else, Phoebe only sof'nin' of the brain 
 I guess we've both got that right bad!" 
 
 "I don't know 'bout that," Phoebe replied, as she 
 began to set the small table for two. "I believe we're 
 gettin' back, after all, Rebecca. The's one thing sure. 
 Everybody knows that ye lose a day every time you 
 go round the world once from east to west, an' I'm 
 sure we've gone round often enough to lose years. 
 I believe that indicator's all right." 
 
 "We've not ben goin' round the world, though," 
 Rebecca replied. "That's the p'int. This old iron 
 clothes-pole out here ain't the hull world, I can tell 
 ye!" 
 
 "Well, but all the meridians " 
 
 "Oh, bother yer meridians! I ain't seen one o' 
 the things yet nor you hevn't, either, Phoebe 
 Wise!" 
 
 Phoebe was not convinced. It seemed not at all 
 unreasonable, after all, that they should lose time 
 without undergoing any physical change. She con 
 cluded to argue the matter no further, however. 
 
 Their meal was eaten in silence. As they rose to 
 clear the table, Phoebe said: 
 
 "Th' ain't any use of goin' back to 1876 now, is 
 there, Rebecca. Though I do s'pose it won't make 
 any difference to Mr. Droop. He can bring out his 
 inventions an' " 
 
 "Not with my money, or Joe Chandler's, either," 
 Rebecca declared, firmly. "Not as Joe'd ask me to 
 
 107
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 marry him now. He'd as soon think o' marryin' his 
 grandmother." 
 
 "Then what's the use o' goin' back any further. 
 We might 's well stop the machine right now, so 's 
 not to have so many more turns to wind up again." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks !" Rebecca exclaimed. "Don't you 
 fret about that! Don't I tell ye it's folderol! 
 Tell ye what ye can do, though. Open them shut 
 ters out there an' let in some sunlight. I've inore'n 
 half a mind to open a window, too. Thet smell o' 
 rum in there makes me sick." 
 
 "We'd freeze to death in a minute if we tried it," 
 said Phoebe, as she entered the main room. 
 
 She went to each of the four windows and opened 
 all the shutters, avoiding in the meantime even a 
 glance at the middle of the room. She did not for 
 get the date indicator, however. 
 
 "Merry Christmas!" she cried, with a little laugh. 
 "It's Christmas-day, 1886, Rebecca." 
 
 The engine-room door was open. Perhaps it was 
 a sign of her returning youth, but the fact is her 
 fingers itched to get at those bright, tempting brass 
 and steel handles. Droop had explained their uses 
 and she felt sure she could manage the machinery. 
 What a delightful thing it would be to feel the Pan- 
 chronicon obeying her hand ! 
 
 "Really, Rebecca," she exclaimed, "if we're not 
 going back to '76 after all, I think it's a dreadful 
 waste of time for us to be throwin' away six months 
 every hour this way." 
 
 108
 
 SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 
 
 " 'Twon't be long," Rebecca replied, as she turned 
 the hot water into her dishpan. "You come in here 
 an' help wash these dishes, an' ef I don't soon wake 
 up that mis'able " She did not trust herself fur 
 ther, but tightly compressed her lips and confined 
 her rising choler. 
 
 "Why, Rebecca Wise," said Phoebe, "you know 
 it will be hours before that man's got sense enough 
 to run this machine. I'm goin' to stop it myself, 
 right now." 
 
 Rebecca had just taken a hot plate from her pan, 
 but she paused ere setting it down, alarmed at Phoe 
 be's temerity. 
 
 "Don't you dast to dream o' sech a thing, Phoebe!" 
 she cried, with frightened earnestness. 
 
 But Phoebe was confident, and crossed the thresh 
 old with a little laugh. 
 
 "Why, Rebecca, what you scared of?" she said. 
 "It's just as easy as that see!" 
 
 She pulled the starting lever. 
 
 The next instant found her flying out into the 
 middle of the main room following Droop, the table, 
 and all the movable furniture. In the kitchen there 
 was a wild scream and a crash of crockery as Rebecca 
 was thrown against the rear partition. 
 
 Phoebe had pulled the lever the wrong way and 
 the Panchronicon was swiftly reaching full speed. 
 
 "Heavens and airth!" cried Rebecca. 
 
 "Whatever in gracious " began the dismayed 
 Phoebe. 
 
 109
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 She broke off in renewed terror as she found her 
 self pushed by an irresistible force to the side of the 
 room. 
 
 "Here here!" she heard from the kitchen. 
 "What's this a-pullin'? Land o' promise, Phoebe, 
 come quick! I've got a stroke!" 
 
 "I can't come !" wailed Phoebe. "I'm jammed tight 
 up against the wall. It's as though I was nailed 
 to it." 
 
 "Oh, why why did ye touch that machinery!" 
 cried Rebecca, and then said no more. 
 
 The speed indicator pointed to one hundred and 
 seventy-five miles an hour. They were making one 
 revolution around the pole each second and they 
 were helpless. 
 
 As she found herself pushed outward by the im 
 mensely increased centrifugal force, Phoebe found it 
 possible to seat herself upon one of the settles, and 
 she now sat with her back pressed firmly against the 
 south wall of the room, only able by a strong effort 
 to raise her head. 
 
 She turned to the right and found that Droop had 
 found a couch on the floor under the table and chairs 
 at the rear of the room, also against the south wall. 
 
 In the kitchen Rebecca had crouched down as she 
 found herself forced outward, and she now sat dazed 
 on the kitchen floor surrounded by the fragments 
 of their breakfast all glued to the wall as tightly 
 as herself. 
 
 "Oh, dear oh, dear!" she cried, closing her eyes. 
 110
 
 SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 
 
 "Copernicus Droop said that side weight would be 
 terrible if we travelled too fast. Why, I'm so heavy 
 sideways I feel like as if I weighed 497| pounds like 
 that fat woman in the circus down to Keene." 
 
 "So do I," Phoebe said, "only I'm so dizzy, too, I 
 can hardly think." 
 
 "Shet your eyes, like me," said Rebecca. 
 
 "I would only I can't keep 'em off the North Pole 
 there," said Phoebe, as she gazed fascinated through 
 the north window opposite. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter with the child!" Rebecca 
 exclaimed, in alarm. "Air ye struck silly, Phoebe?" 
 
 "No, but I guess you'd want to watch it too if you 
 could see that ring we're tied to spinnin' round right 
 close to the top of the pole. There there !" she con 
 tinued, shrilly. "It'll fly right off in another minute ! 
 There! Oh, dear!" 
 
 Their attachment did indeed appear precarious. 
 The increased speed acting through the inclined aero 
 plane had caused the vessel to rise sharply, and the 
 rope had raised the ring by which it was attached 
 to the pole until it came in contact with the steel 
 ball at the top, when it could rise no farther. Here 
 the iron ring was grinding against and under the 
 retaining ball which alone prevented its slipping off 
 the top of the pole. 
 
 "I don't see's we'd be any wuss off ef we did come 
 loose," said Rebecca, with eyes still closed. "At least 
 we wouldn't be gummed here ez tight's if the walls 
 was fly-paper." 
 
 Ill
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "No, but we'd fly off at a tangent into infinite 
 space, Rebecca Wise," Phoebe said, sharply. 
 
 "Where's that?" asked her sister. "I'll engage 
 'tain't any wuss place than the North Pole." 
 
 "Why, it's off into the ether. There isn't any 
 air there or anythin'. An' they say it's fifty times 
 colder than the North Pole." 
 
 "Who's ben there?" 
 
 "Why, nobody " Phoebe began. 
 
 "Then let's drop it," snapped Rebecca. "Dr. Kane 
 said the' was an open sea at the North Pole an' 
 I'm sick o' bein' told about places nobody's ever ben 
 to before." 
 
 Phoebe was somewhat offended at this and there 
 was a long silence, during which she became more 
 reassured touching the danger of breaking away 
 from the Pole. Soon she, too, was able to shut 
 her eyes. 
 
 The silence was broken by a meek voice from un 
 der the table. 
 
 "Would you mind settin' off my chist?" said Droop. 
 
 There was no answer and he opened his eyes. His 
 bewilderment and surprise were intense when he dis 
 covered his situation. 
 
 Shutting his eyes again, he remarked: 
 
 "What you flashin' that bright light in my eyes 
 so often for?" 
 
 Phoebe gave vent to a gentle sniff of contempt. 
 
 "My my my!" Droop continued, in meek 
 amazement. "I s'pose I must hev taken two whole 
 
 112
 
 SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 
 
 bottles. I never, never felt so heavy's this before! 
 What's the old Pan lyin' on it's side fer?" 
 
 " 'Tain't on its side," snapped Phoebe. "The old 
 thing's run away, Copernicus Droop, an' it's all your 
 fault." There was a quiver in her voice. 
 
 "Run away!" said Droop, opening his eyes again. 
 "Where to?" 
 
 "Nowheres jest whirlin'. Only it's goin' a mile 
 a second, I do believe an' it'll fly off the pole soon 
 an' an' we'll all be killed!" she cried, bursting 
 into tears. 
 
 She dragged her hands with great difficulty to her 
 face against which she found them pressed with con 
 siderable energy. Crying under these circumstances 
 was so very unusual and uncomfortable that she soon 
 gave it up. 
 
 "Oh, I see! It's the side weight holds me here. 
 Where are you?" 
 
 There was no reply, so he turned his head and 
 eyes this way and that until at length he spied Phoebe 
 on the settle, farther forward. 
 
 "Am I under the table ?" he said. "Where's Cousin 
 Rebecca? Was she pressed out through the wall?" 
 
 "I'm out here in the kitchen, Copernicus Droop," 
 she cried. "I wish to goodness you'd ben pressed in 
 through the walls of the lock-up 'fore ever ye brought 
 me'n Phoebe into this mess. Ef you're a man or 
 half one, you'll go and stop this pesky old Panchron- 
 icle an' give us a chance to move." 
 
 "How can I go?" he cried, peevishly. "What the 
 113
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 lands sakes did you go an' make the machine run 
 away for? Couldn't ye leave the machinery alone?" 
 
 "I didn't touch your old machine!" cried Rebecca. 
 "Phoebe thought we'd be twisted back of our first 
 birthday ef the thing wasn't stopped, an' she pulled 
 the handle the wrong way, that's all!" 
 
 Droop rolled his eyes about eagerly for a glimpse 
 of the date indicator. 
 
 "What's the date, Cousin Phoebe?" he asked. 
 
 "April 4, 1884 no, April 3d 2d oh, dear, it's 
 goin' back so fast I can't tell ye the truth about it!" 
 
 "Early in 1884," Droop repeated, in awe-struck 
 accents. "An' we're a-whirlin' off one day every 
 second just about one year in six minutes. Great 
 Criminy crickets! When was you born, Cousin 
 Phoebe?" 
 
 "Second of April, 1874." 
 
 "Ten years. One year in six minutes gives ye 
 jest one hour to live. Then you'll go out bang! 
 like a candle. I'll go next, and Cousin Rebecca 
 last." 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed Rebecca, angrily, "ef I can hev 
 the pleasure o' bein' rid o' you, Copernicus Droop, 
 it'll be cheap at the price but the's no sech luck. 
 Ef you think ye can fool us any more with yer twad 
 dle 'bout cuttin' meridians, ye're mistaken that's 
 all I can say." 
 
 Droop was making desperate efforts to climb along 
 the floor and reach the engine-room, but, although 
 by dint of gigantic struggles he managed to make 
 
 114
 
 SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 
 
 his way a few feet, he was then obliged to pause for 
 breath, whereupon he slid gently and ignominiously 
 back to his nook under the table. 
 
 Here he found himself in contact with a corked 
 bottle. He looked at it and felt comforted. At least 
 he had access to forgetfulness whenever he pleased 
 to seek it. 
 
 The two women found it wisest to lie quiet and 
 speak but little. The combined rotary movement 
 and sense of weight were nervously disturbing, and 
 for a long time no one of the three spoke. Only once 
 in the middle of the forenoon did Phoebe address 
 Droop. 
 
 "Whatever will be the end o' this?" she said. 
 
 "Why, we'll keep on whirlin' till the power gives 
 out," he replied. "Ye hevn't much time to live now, 
 hev ye?" 
 
 With a throb of fear felt for the first time, Phoebe 
 looked at the indicator. 
 
 "It's May, 1874," she said. 
 
 "Jest a month thirty seconds," he said, sadly. 
 
 "Copernicus Droop, do you mean it?" screamed 
 Rebecca from the kitchen. 
 
 "Unless the power gives out before then," he re 
 plied. "I don't suppose ye want to make yer will, 
 do ye?" 
 
 "Stuff!" said Phoebe, bravely, but her gaze was 
 fixed anxiously on the indicator, now fast approach 
 ing the 2d of April. 
 
 "Oh, dear! 'F I could only see ye, Phoebe!" cried 
 115
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Rebecca. "I know he's a mis'able deceivin' man, but 
 if if oh, Phoebe, can't ye holler!" 
 
 "It's April 8th good-bye!" Phoebe said, faintly. 
 
 "Phoebe Phoebe!" 
 
 "Hurray hurray! It's March 31st, and here I 
 am!" 
 
 Phoebe tried to clap her hands, but the effort was 
 in vain. 
 
 "I allus said it was folderol," said Rebecca, sternly. 
 "Oh, but I'd like to throw somethin' at that Coper 
 nicus Droop!" 
 
 "Come to think of it," said Droop, "that future 
 man must hev come back long, long before his birth- 
 day." 
 
 "Why didn't ye say that sooner?" cried Rebecca. 
 
 There was no further conversation until long after 
 ward, when Rebecca suddenly remarked: 
 
 "Aren't ye hungry, Phoebe?" 
 
 "Why, it's gettin' along to dinner-time, ain't it?" 
 she replied. "I don't see, though, how I'm to get 
 any victuals, do you?" 
 
 "Why, the's bread an' other scraps slammed up 
 against the wall here all round me," said Rebecca. 
 "Couldn't we fix some way to get some of 'em to ye?" 
 
 Phoebe looked anxiously about and finally caught 
 sight of her sister's knitting work near at hand. It 
 proved to be just within reach, and by slow degrees 
 and much effort she brought it into her lap within 
 easy reach of both her heavy hands. 
 
 "Oh, dear!" she said, "I feel 's if both my arms 
 116
 
 SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 
 
 had turned to lead. Here, Rebecca, I'm goin' to see 
 if I can roll your ball o' yarn along the floor through 
 the kitchen door. The centrifugal force will bring 
 it to you. Then you can cut the yarn an' tie some- 
 thin' on the end for me to eat an' I'll haul it back 
 through the door." 
 
 "That's jest the thing, Phoebe. Go on I'm 
 ready." 
 
 The theory seemed excellent, as Rebecca had fort 
 unately been working with a very tough flaxen yarn ; 
 but so great was the apparent weight of Phoebe's 
 arms that it was only after a long series of trials end 
 ing in failures that she finally succeeded. 
 
 "I've got it!" cried Rebecca, triumphantly. "Now, 
 then, I've got a slice of ham and two slices of 
 bread " 
 
 "Don't send ham," said Phoebe. "I'd be sure to 
 eat it if I had it, an' 'twould make me fearful dry. 
 I'm sure I don't see how I'm to get any water in 
 here." 
 
 "Thet's so," said Rebecca. "Well, here's an apple 
 and two slices of bread." 
 
 "Are you keepin' enough for yourself, Rebecca?" 
 
 "Enough an' to spare," she replied. "Now, then 
 all ready! Pull 'em along!" 
 
 Phoebe obeyed and soon had secured possession of 
 the frugal meal which Rebecca had been able to con 
 vey to her. 
 
 She offered a portion of her ration to Droop, but 
 he declined it, saying he had no appetite. He had 
 
 117
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 lapsed into a kind of waking reverie and scarce knew 
 what was going on about him. 
 
 The two women also were somewhat stupefied by 
 the continual rotation and their enforced immobility. 
 They spoke but seldom and must have dozed fre 
 quently, for Phrebe was much surprised to find, on 
 looking at the clock, that it was half-past five. 
 
 She glanced at the date indicator. 
 
 "Why, Rebecca!" she cried. "Here 'tis Novem 
 ber, 1804!" 
 
 "My land!" cried Rebecca, forgetting her scepti 
 cism. "What do you s'pose they're doin' in New 
 Hampshire now, Phcebe?" 
 
 "It's 'bout election time, Rebecca. They're prob 
 ably votin' for Adams or Madison or somebody like 
 that." 
 
 "My stars!" said Rebecca. "What ever shall we 
 do ef this old machine goes on back of the Revolu 
 tion! I should hate to go back an' worry through 
 all them terrible times." 
 
 "We'll be lucky if we stop there," said Pho2be. 
 "I only hope to gracious we won't go back to Colum 
 bus or King Alfred." 
 
 "Oh, I hope not!" said Rebecca, with a shudder. 
 "Folks ud think we was crazy to be talkin' 'bout 
 America then." 
 
 Phoebe tried to toss her head. 
 
 "If 'twas in Alfred's time," she said, "they couldn't 
 understand what we was talkin' about." 
 
 "Phcebe Wise! What do you mean?" 
 118
 
 SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 
 
 "I mean just that. There wasn't any English lan 
 guage then. Besides who's to say the old thing 
 won't whirl us back to the days of the Greeks an' 
 Romans? We could see Socrates and Pericles and 
 Croesus and " 
 
 "Oh, I'd love to see Croesus!" Rebecca broke in. 
 "He's the richest man that ever lived !" 
 
 "Yes and perhaps we'll go back of then and see 
 Abraham and Noah." 
 
 "Ef we could see Noah, 'twould be worth while," 
 said Rebecca. "Joe Forrest said he didn't believe 
 about the flood. He said Noah couldn't hev packed 
 all them animals in tight enough to hev got 'em all 
 in the Ark. I'd like mighty well if I could ask Noah 
 himself 'bout it." 
 
 "He couldn't understand ye," said Phoebe. "All 
 he spoke was Hebrew, ye know." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Rebecca. Then, after a pause: 
 "S'pose we went back to the tower of Babel. Couldn't 
 we find the folks that was struck with the English 
 language an' get one of 'em to go back an' speak to 
 Noah?" 
 
 "What good would that do? If he was struck with 
 English he wouldn't know Hebrew any more. That's 
 what made But there!" she exclaimed, "what nin 
 nies we are!" 
 
 There was a long pause. After many minutes, 
 Rebecca asked one more question. 
 
 "Do you s'pose the flood would come up as fur's 
 this, Phoebe?" 
 
 119
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "I don't know, Rebecca. The Bible says the whole 
 earth, you know." 
 
 And so passed the slow hours. When they were not 
 dozing they were either nibbling frugally the scant 
 fare in reach or conversing by short snatches at long 
 intervals. 
 
 For thirty hours had they thus whirled ceaselessly 
 around that circle, when Phrebe, glancing through 
 the window at the ring to which their rope was at 
 tached, noticed that its constant rubbing against the 
 ball at the top of the pole had worn it nearly through. 
 
 "My goodness, Rebecca!" she cried. "I believe 
 we're goin' off at a tangent in a minute." 
 
 "What? How?" 
 
 "The ring on the pole is nigh worn out. I believe 
 it'll break in a minute." 
 
 "If it breaks we'll move straight an' get rid o' this 
 side weight, won't we?" 
 
 "Yes but goodness only knows where we'll fly 
 to." 
 
 "Why ain't Mr. Droop there? If the side weight 
 goes, he can get into the engine-room an' let us down 
 easy." 
 
 "That's so!" cried Phrebe. "Oh, won't it be grand 
 to stand still a minute after all this traipsin' around 
 and around! Mr. Droop," she continued, "do you 
 hear? You'd better be gettin' ready to take hold 
 an' stop the Panchronicon, 'cause we're goin' to break 
 loose in half no time." 
 
 There was no reply. Nor could any calling or 
 120
 
 SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 
 
 pleading elicit an answer. Droop had yielded to his 
 thirst and was again sleeping the sleep of the un- 
 regenerate. 
 
 "Oh, Rebecca, what Oh oo oo!" 
 
 There was a loud scream from both the sisters as 
 the iron ring, worn through by long rubbing, finally 
 snapped asunder. 
 
 The tremendous pressure was suddenly lifted, and 
 the two women were free. 
 
 With a single impulse, they flew toward the kitchen 
 door and fell into each other's arms. 
 
 The Panchronicon had gone off at a tangent at 
 last! 
 
 "Oh, Rebecca Rebecca!" cried Phoebe, in tears. 
 "I was afraid I'd never see you again!" 
 
 Rebecca cried a little too, and patted her sister's 
 shoulder in silence a moment. 
 
 "There, deary!" she said, after awhile. "Now let's 
 set down an' hev a good cup o' tea. Then we can go 
 to bed comfortable." 
 
 "But, Rebecca," said Phoebe, stepping back and 
 wiping her eyes, "what shall we do about the Pan 
 chronicon? We're jest makin' fer Infinite Space, or 
 somewheres, as fast as we can go." 
 
 "Can't help it, Phoebe. Ye sha'n't touch a thing 
 in that engine-room this day not while I'm here. 
 Ye might blow us up the nex' time. No I guess 
 we'll jest hev to trust in the Lord. He brought us 
 into this pickle, an' it's fer Him to see us out of it." 
 
 With this comforting reflection the two sisters 
 121
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 brewed a pot of tea, and after partaking of the re 
 freshing decoction, went to their respective beds. 
 
 "I declare, I'm dog tired !" said Eebecca. 
 
 "So'm I," said Phcebe. 
 
 Those were their last words for many hours. 
 
 122
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 How long they slept after their extraordinary ex 
 perience with the runaway air-ship neither Rebecca 
 nor Phoebe ever knew; but when they awoke all was 
 still, and it was evidently dark outside, for no ray 
 of light found its way past the hangings they had 
 placed over their windows. 
 
 There was something uncanny in the total silence. 
 Even the noise of the machinery was stilled, and the 
 two sisters dressed together in Rebecca's room for 
 company's sake. 
 
 "Do you suppose we've arrived in Infinite Space 
 yet?" Rebecca asked. 
 
 "It's still enough fer it," Phoebe replied, in a low 
 voice. "But I don't hear the Panchronicon's machin 
 ery any more. It must have run down entirely, 
 wherever we are." 
 
 At that moment there was borne faintly to their 
 ears the distant crowing of a cock. 
 
 "Well, there!" said Rebecca, with an expression 
 of immense relief, "I don't believe the's any hens 
 an' roosters in Infinite Space, is the'?" 
 
 Phoebe laughed and shook her head as she ran to 
 123
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 the window. She drew aside the shawl hanging be 
 fore the glass and peered out. 
 
 The first gleams of dawn were dispelling the night, 
 and against a dark gray sky she saw the branches of 
 thickly crowding trees. 
 
 Dropping the shawl, she turned eagerly to her sis 
 ter. 
 
 "Rebecca Wise!" she exclaimed. "As sure as 
 you're alive, we're back safe on the ground again. 
 We're in the woods." 
 
 "Mos' likely Putnam's wood lot," said Rebecca, 
 with great satisfaction as she finally adjusted her 
 cameo brooch. "Gracious! Won't I be glad to see 
 all the folks again!" 
 
 She pushed open her door and, followed by Phoebe, 
 entered the main room. Here all was gloom, but 
 they could hear Droop's breathing, and knew that he 
 was still sleeping under the table in the corner. 
 
 "For the lands sakes! Let's get out in the fresh 
 air," Rebecca exclaimed as she groped her way toward 
 the stairs. "You keep a-holt o' me, Phoebe. That's 
 right. We'll get out o' here an' make rabbit tracks 
 fer home, I tell ye. We can come back later for our 
 duds when that mis'able specimen is sober fer awhile 
 again." 
 
 Slowly the two made their way down the winding 
 stairs to the lower hall, where, after much fumbling, 
 they found the door handle and lock. 
 
 As they emerged from the prison that had so long 
 confined them, a cool morning zephyr swept their 
 
 124
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 faces, bringing with it once more the well-known 
 voice of distant chanticleer. 
 
 They walked across the springing turf a few yards 
 and were then able to make out the looming black 
 mass of some building beyond the end of the air-ship. 
 
 "Goodness!" Rebecca whispered. "This ain't Pel- 
 tonville, Phrebe. There ain't a house in the town 
 as high as that, 'less it's the meetin'-house, an' 'tain't 
 the right shape fer that." 
 
 They advanced stealthily toward the newly dis 
 covered building, in which not a single light was to 
 be seen. 
 
 "In good sooth," Phoebe exclaimed, putting one 
 hand on her sister's arm, "it hath an air of witch 
 craft! Dost not feel cold chills in thee, Rebecca?" 
 
 Rebecca stopped short, stiff with amazement. 
 
 "What's come over ye?" she asked, trying to peer 
 into her sister's face. "Whatever makes ye talk like 
 that, child?" 
 
 Phrebe laughed nervously and, taking her sister's 
 arm, pressed close up to her. 
 
 "I don't know, dear. Did I speak funny?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Why you know you did. What's the use o' tryin' 
 to scare a body with gibberish? This place is creepy 
 'nough now." 
 
 As she spoke, they reached the door of the strange 
 building. They could see that it stood open, and 
 even as they paused near the threshold another puff 
 of air passed them, and they heard a door squeak 
 on its rusty hinges. 
 
 125
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 They stood and listened breathlessly, peering into 
 the dark interior whence there was borne to their 
 nostrils a musty odor. A large bat whisked across 
 the opening, and as they started back alarmed he 
 returned with swift zig-zag cuts and vanished ghost 
 like into the house. 
 
 "It's deserted," whispered Rebecca. 
 
 "Perhaps it's haunted," Phcebe replied. 
 
 "Well, we needn't go in, I guess," said Rebecca, 
 turning from the door and starting briskly away. 
 "Come on this way, Phoebe look out fer the trees 
 lands! Did y'ever see so many?" 
 
 A few steps brought them to a high brick wall, 
 against which flowers, weeds, and vines grew rank 
 together. They followed this wall, walking more 
 rapidly, for the day was breaking in earnest and 
 groping was needless now. Presently they came to 
 a spot where the wall was broken away, leaving an 
 opening just broad enough to admit a man's body. 
 Rebecca squeezed boldly through and Phoebe fol 
 lowed her, rather for company's sake than with any 
 curiosity to see what was beyond. 
 
 They found themselves in a sort of open common, 
 stretching to the edge of a broad roadway about a 
 hundred yards from where they stood. On the other 
 side of the road a cluster of gabled cottages was 
 visible against the faint rose tint of the eastern 
 sky. 
 
 As Phoebe came to her sister's side, she clutched 
 her arm excitedly: 
 
 126
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 "Rebecca!" she exclaimed. "'Tis Newington, as 
 true as I live! Newington and Blackmail Street!" 
 
 Suddenly she sat down in the grass and hid her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 "What d'ye mean?" said Rebecca, looking down 
 at her sister with a puzzled expression. "Where's 
 Newington I never heerd tell of Blackman Street. 
 Air ye thinkin' of Boston, or 
 
 Phoebe interrupted her by leaping to her feet and 
 starting back to the opening in the wall. 
 
 "Come back, Rebecca!" she exclaimed. "Come 
 back quick!" 
 
 Rebecca followed her sister in some alarm. Phoebe 
 must have been taken suddenly ill, she thought. Per 
 haps they had reached one of those regions infected 
 by fevers of which she had heard from time to time. 
 
 In silence the two women hurried back to the Pan- 
 chronicon, whose uncouth form was now quite plain 
 ly visible behind the trees into the midst of which 
 it had fallen when the power stored within it was 
 exhausted. 
 
 Not until they were safely seated in Rebecca's 
 room did Phoebe speak again. 
 
 "There!" she exclaimed, as she dropped to a seat 
 on the edge of the bed, "I declare to goodness, Re 
 becca, I don't know what to make of it!" 
 
 "What is it? What ails ye?" said Rebecca, anx 
 iously. 
 
 "Why, I don't believe I'm myself, Rebecca. I've 
 been here before. I know that village out there, 
 
 127
 
 and and it's all I can do to talk same's I've always 
 been used to. I'm wanting to talk like like I did 
 awhile back." 
 
 "It's all right! It's all right!" said Rebecca, sooth 
 ingly. "Th' ain't nothing the matter with you, 
 deary. Ye've ben shet up here with side weight an' 
 what not so long o' course you're not yerself." 
 
 She bustled about pretending to set things to 
 rights, but her heart was heavy with apprehension. 
 She thought that Phoebe was in the first stages of 
 delirium. 
 
 "Not myself! No," said Phoebe. "No the fact 
 is, I'm somebody else !" 
 
 At this Rebecca straightened up and cast one hor 
 rified glance at her sister. Then she turned and be 
 gan to put on her bonnet and jacket. Her mind was 
 made up. Phoebe was delirious and they must seek 
 a doctor at once. 
 
 "Get your things on, Phoebe," she said, striving 
 to appear calm. "Put on your things an' come out 
 with me. Let's see if we can't take a little exercise." 
 
 Phoebe arose obediently and went to her room. 
 They were neither of them very long about their 
 preparations, and by the time the sun was actually 
 rising, the two women were leaving the air-ship for 
 the second time, Phoebe carrying the precious carved 
 box and Rebecca her satchel and umbrella. 
 
 "What you bringin' that everlastin' packet o' 
 letters for?" Rebecca asked, as they reached the 
 opening in the wall. 
 
 128
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 "I want to have it out in the light," Phoebe re 
 plied. "I want to see something." 
 
 Outside of the brick wall she paused and opened 
 the box. It was empty. 
 
 "I thought so!" she said. 
 
 "Why, ye've brought the box 'thout the letters, 
 Phoebe," said Rebecca. "You're not agoin' back for 
 them, air ye?" 
 
 "No," Phoebe replied, " 'twouldn't do any good. 
 Rebecca. They aren't there." 
 
 She dropped the box in the grass and looked wist 
 fully about her. 
 
 "Not there!" said Rebecca, nonplussed. "Why, 
 who'd take 'em?" 
 
 "Nobody. They haven't been written yet." 
 
 "Not not " Rebecca gasped for a moment and 
 then hurried toward the road. "Come on!" she cried. 
 
 Surely, she thought surely they must find a doc 
 tor without delay. 
 
 But before they reached the road, Rebecca was 
 glad to pause again and take advantage of a friendly 
 bush from whose cover she might gaze without being 
 herself observed. 
 
 The broad highway which but so short a time ago 
 was quite deserted, was now occupied by a double 
 line of bustling people young and old men, 
 women, and children. Those travelling toward their 
 left, to the north, were principally men and boys, 
 although now and then a pair of loud-voiced girls 
 passed northward with male companions. Those who 
 
 129
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 were travelling southward were the younger ones, 
 and often whole families together. Among these 
 the women predominated. 
 
 All of these people were laughing calling rough 
 jokes back and forth singing, running, jumping, 
 and dancing, till the whole roadway appeared a merry 
 Bedlam. 
 
 "Must be a county fair near here!" exclaimed Re 
 becca. "But will ye listen to the gibberish an' see 
 their clothes!" 
 
 Indeed, the language and the costumes were most 
 perplexing to good New England ears and eyes, and 
 Rebecca knew not whether to advance or to retreat. 
 
 The women all wore very wide and rather short 
 skirts, the petticoat worn exposed up to where a full 
 over-skirt or flounce gave emphasis to their hips. The 
 elder ones wore long-sleeved jackets and high- 
 crowned hats, while the young ones wore what looked 
 like low-necked jerseys tied together in front and 
 their braided hair hung from uncovered crowns. 
 
 The men wore short breeches, some full trunk 
 hose, some tighter but puffed; their jackets were of 
 many fashions, from the long-skirted open coats of 
 the elders to the smart doublets or shirts of the 
 young men. 
 
 The children were dressed like the adults, and 
 most of them wore wreaths and garlands of flowers, 
 while in the hands of many were baskets full of 
 posies. 
 
 Phoebe gazed from her sister's side with the keen- 
 ISO
 
 est delight, saying nothing, but turning her eyes 
 hither and thither as though afraid of losing the least 
 detail of the scene. 
 
 Presently two young girls approached, each with 
 a basket in her hand. They moved slowly over the 
 grass, stopping constantly to pick the violets under 
 their feet. They were so engrossed in their task and 
 in their conversation that they failed to notice the 
 two sisters half hidden by the shrubbery. 
 
 "Nay nay!" the taller of the two was saying, "I 
 tell thee he made oath to't, Cicely. Knew ye ever 
 Master Stephen to be forsworn?" 
 
 "A lover's oaths truly!" laughed the other. 
 "Why, they be made for breaking. I doubt not he 
 hath made a like vow to a score of silly wenches ere 
 this, coz!" 
 
 "Thou dost him wrong, Cicely. An he keep not 
 the tryst, 'twill only be " 
 
 " 'Twill only be thy first misprision, eh ?" 
 
 "Marry, then " 
 
 Here their words were lost as they continued to 
 move farther away, still disputing together. 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed Rebecca, turning to Phoebe. 
 "Now I know where we've ben carried to. This is 
 the Holy Land Jerusalem or Bethlehem or Canaan 
 or some sech place. Thou thee thy ! Did ye hear 
 those girls talkin' Bible language, Phosbe?" 
 
 Phcebe shook her head and was about to reply 
 when there was a loud clamour of many tongues from 
 the road near by. 
 
 131
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "The May-pole! The May-pole!" and someone 
 started a roaring song in which hundreds soon joined. 
 The sisters could not distinguish the words, but the 
 volume of sound was tremendous. 
 
 There was the tramp of many rushing feet and a 
 Babel of cries behind them. They turned to see a 
 party of twenty gayly clad young men bearing down 
 upon them, carrying a mighty May-pole crowned with 
 flowers and streaming with colored ribbons. 
 
 Around these and following after were three or 
 four score merry lads and lasses, all running and 
 capering, shouting and dancing, singly or in groups, 
 hand in hand. 
 
 In a trice Rebecca found herself clinging to Phoebe 
 with whom she was borne onward helpless by the 
 mad throng. 
 
 The new-comers were clad in all sorts of fantastic 
 garbs, and many of them were masked. Phoebe and 
 her sister were therefore not conspicuous in their 
 long scant black skirts and cloth jackets with balloon 
 sleeves. Their costumes were taken for disguises, 
 and as they were swallowed up in the mad throng 
 they were looked on as fellow revellers. 
 
 Had Rebecca been alone, she would probably have 
 succeeded in time in working her way out of this un 
 welcome crowd, but to her amazement, no sooner 
 had they been surrounded by the young roysterers 
 than Phoebe, breaking her long silence, seized her 
 sister by the hand and began laughing, dancing, and 
 running with the best of them. To crown all, what 
 
 132
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 was Rebecca's surprise to hear her sister singing word 
 for word the madcap song of the others, as though 
 she had known these words all her life. She did not 
 even skip those parts that made Rebecca blush. 
 
 It was incredible monstrous impossible! Phoe 
 be, the sweet, modest, gentle, prudish Phoebe, singing 
 a questionable song in a whirl of roystering Jerusa- 
 lemites! 
 
 Up the broad road they danced up to the north 
 ward, all men making way for them as, with hand 
 bag and umbrella flying in her left hand, she was 
 dragged forward on an indecorous run by Phoebe, 
 who held her tightly by the right. 
 
 On ever on, past wayside inn and many a lane 
 and garden, house and hedge. Over the stones and 
 ruts, choking in clouds of dust. 
 
 Once Rebecca stumbled and a great gawky fellow 
 caught her around the waist to prevent her falling. 
 
 "Lips pay forfeit for tripping feet, lass!" he cried, 
 and kissed her with a sounding smack. 
 
 Furious and blushing, she swung her hand-bag in 
 a circle and brought it down upon the ravisher's head. 
 
 "Take that, you everlastin' rascal, you!" she 
 gasped. 
 
 The bumpkin dodged with a laugh and disappeared 
 in the crowd and dust, cuffing, pushing, scuffling, hug 
 ging, and kissing quite heedless of small rebuffs. 
 
 When they had proceeded thus until Rebecca 
 thought there was nothing left for it but to fall in 
 her tracks and be trampled to death, the whole crowd 
 
 133
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 came suddenly to a halt, and the young men began 
 to erect the May-pole in the midst of a shaded green 
 on one side of the main road. 
 
 Rebecca stood, angry and breathless, trying to 
 flick the dust off her bag with her handkerchief, 
 while Phoebe, at her side, her eyes bright and cheeks 
 rosy, showed her pretty teeth in a broad smile of 
 pleasure, the while she tried to restore some order 
 to her hair. As for her hat, that had long ago been 
 lost. 
 
 "I declare I declare to goodness!" panted Rebec 
 ca, "ef anybody'd told me ez you, Phoebe "Wise, would 
 take on so so like like a a " 
 
 "Like any Zanny's light-o-love," Phoebe broke in, 
 her bosom heaving with the violence of her exercise. 
 "But prithee, sweet, chide me not. From this on 
 shall I be chaste, demure, and sober as an abbess in 
 a play. But oh! but oh!" she cried, stretching her 
 arms high over her head, " 'twas a goodly frolic, sis ! 
 I felt a three-centuries' fasting lust for it, in good 
 sooth !" 
 
 Rebecca clutched her sister by the arm and shook 
 her. 
 
 "Phoebe Wise Phoebe Wise!" she cried, looking 
 anxiously into her face, "wake up now wake up! 
 What in the universal airth " 
 
 A loud shout cut her short, and the two sisters 
 turned amazed. 
 
 "The bull! The bull!" 
 
 There was an opening in the crowd as four men 
 134
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 approached leading and driving a huge angry bull, 
 which was secured by a ring in his nose to which ropes 
 were attached. Another man followed, dragged for 
 ward by three fierce bull-dogs in a leash. 
 
 The bull was quickly tied to a stout post in the 
 street, and the crowd formed a circle closely sur 
 rounding the bull-ring. It was the famous bull-ring 
 of Blackman Street in Southwark. 
 
 A moment later the dogs were freed, and amid 
 their hoarse baying and growling and the deep roar 
 ing of their adversary, the baiting began the chief 
 sport of high and low in the merry days of good 
 Queen Bess. 
 
 The sisters found themselves in the front of the 
 throng surrounding the raging beasts, and, before she 
 knew it, Rebecca saw one of the dogs caught on the 
 horns of the bull and tossed, yelping and bleeding, 
 into the air. 
 
 For one moment she stood aghast in the midst of 
 the delighted crowd of shouting onlookers. Then 
 she turned and fiercely elbowed her way outward, 
 followed by her sister. 
 
 "Come 'long come 'long, Phoebe!" she cried. 
 "We'll soon put a stop to this! I'll find the select 
 men o' this town an' see ef this cruelty to animals 
 is agoin' on right here in open daylight. I guess 
 the's laws o' some kind here, ef it is Bethlehem or 
 Babylon!" 
 
 Hot with indignation, the still protesting woman 
 reached the outskirts of the throng and looked about 
 
 135
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 her. Close at hand a tall, swaggering fellow was 
 loafing about. He was dressed in yellow from head 
 to foot, save where his doublet and hose were slashed 
 with dirty red at elbows, shoulders, and hips. A 
 dirty ruff was around his neck, and on his head he 
 wore a great shapeless hat peaked up in front. 
 
 "Hey, mister!" cried Eebecca, addressing this 
 worthy. "Can you tell me where I can find one o' 
 the selectmen?" 
 
 The stranger paused in his walk and glanced first 
 at Rebecca and then, with evidently increased inter 
 est, at Phoebe. 
 
 "Selectmen?" he asked. "Who hath selected them, 
 dame?" 
 
 He gazed quizzically at the excited woman. 
 
 "Now you needn't be funny 'bout it," Rebecca 
 cried, "fer I'm not goin' to take any impidence. You 
 know who I mean by the selectmen jest's well as I 
 do. I'd be obliged to ye ef ye'd tell me the way 
 an' drop that Bible talk good every-day English is 
 good enough fer me!" 
 
 "In good sooth, dame," he replied, " 'tis not every 
 day I hear such English as yours." 
 
 He paused a moment in thought. This was May 
 day a season of revelry and good-natured practical 
 joking. This woman was evidently quizzing him, so 
 it behooved him to repay her in kind. 
 
 "But a truce to quips and quillets, say I," he con 
 tinued. " 'Twill do me much pleasure an your lady 
 ship will follow me to the selectman. As it happens, 
 
 136
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 his honor is even now holding court near London 
 Bridge." 
 
 "London Bridge!" gasped Rebecca. "Why, Lon 
 don ain't a Bible country, is it ?" 
 
 Deigning no notice to a query which he did not 
 understand, the young fellow set off to northward, 
 followed closely by the two women. 
 
 "Keep close to him, Phoebe," said Rebecca, warn- 
 ingly. "Ef we should lose the man in all this rabble 
 o' folks we would not find him in a hurry." 
 
 "Thou seest, sweet sister," Phoebe replied, " 'tis 
 indeed our beloved city of London. Did I not tell 
 thee yon village was Newington, and here we be now 
 in Southwark, close to London Bridge." 
 
 Rebecca had forgotten her sister's ailment in the 
 fierce indignation which the bull-baiting had aroused. 
 But now she was brought back to her own personal 
 fears and aims with a rude shock by the strange lan 
 guage Phoebe held. 
 
 She leaped forward eagerly and touched their 
 guide's shoulder. 
 
 "Hey, mister!" she exclaimed, "I'd be obliged to 
 ye if ye'd show us the house o' the nearest doctor 
 before we see the selectman." 
 
 The man stopped short in the middle of the street, 
 with a cunning leer on his face. The change of pur 
 pose supported his belief that a May-day jest was for 
 ward. 
 
 "Call me plain Jock Dean, mistress," he said. 
 "And now tell me further, wilt have a doctor of laws, 
 
 137
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 of divinity, or of physic. We be in a merry mood 
 and a generous to-day, and will fetch forth bachelors, 
 masters, doctors, proctors, and all degrees from Ox 
 ford, Cambridge, or London at a wink's notice. So 
 say your will." 
 
 Rebecca would have returned a sharp reply to this 
 banter, but she was very anxious to find a physician 
 for Phoebe, and so thought it best to take a coaxing 
 course. 
 
 "What I want's a doctor," she said. "I think my 
 sister's got the shakes or suthin', an' I must take her 
 to the doctor. Now look here you look like a nice 
 kind of a young man. I know it's some kind of an 
 tiques and horribles day 'round here, an' all the folks 
 hes on funny clothes and does nothin' on'y joke a 
 body. But let's drop comical talk jest fer a minute 
 an' get down to sense, eh?" 
 
 She spoke pleadingly, and for a moment Jock 
 looked puzzled. He only understood a portion of 
 what she was saying, but he realized that she was 
 in some sort of trouble. 
 
 "Why bait the man with silly questions, Rebecca," 
 Phoebe broke in. "A truce to this silly talk of apothe 
 caries. I have no need of surgeons, I. My good 
 fellow," she continued, addressing Jock with an air 
 of condescension that dumfounded her sister, "is not 
 yonder the Southwark pillory?" 
 
 "Ay, mistress," he replied, with a grin. "It's there 
 you may see the selectman your serving-maid in 
 quired for." 
 
 138
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 Rebecca gasped and clinched her hands fiercely 
 on her bag and umbrella. 
 
 "Serving-maid!" she cried. 
 
 "Ahoy whoop room! Yi ki yi!" 
 
 A swarm of small white animals ran wildly past 
 them from behind, and after them came a howling, 
 laughing, scrambling mob that filled the street. 
 Someone had loosed a few score rabbits for the de 
 light of the rabble. 
 
 There was no time for reflection. With one ac 
 cord, Jock and the two women ran with all speed 
 toward the pillory and the bridge, driven forward 
 by the crowd behind them. To have held their 
 ground would have been to risk broken bones at least. 
 
 Fortunately the hunted beasts turned sharply to 
 the right and left at the first cross street, and soon 
 the three human fugitives could halt and draw 
 breath. 
 
 They found themselves in the outskirts of a crowd 
 surrounding the pillory, and above the heads of those 
 in front they could see a huge red face under a 
 thatch of tousled hair protruding stiffly through a 
 hole in a beam supported at right angles to a vertical 
 post about five feet high. On each side of the head 
 a large and dirty hand hung through an appropriate 
 opening in the beam. 
 
 Under the prisoner's head was hung an account 
 of his misdeeds, placed there by some of his cronies. 
 These crimes were in the nature of certain breaches 
 of public decorum and decency, the details of which 
 
 139
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 the bystanders were discussing with relish and good- 
 humor. 
 
 "Let's get out o' here," said Rebecca, suddenly, 
 when the purport of what she heard pierced her nine 
 teenth-century understanding. "These folks beat 
 me!" 
 
 She turned, grasping Phoebe's arm to enforce her 
 request, but she found that others had crowded in 
 behind them and had hemmed them in. This would 
 not have deterred her but, unaccountably, Phosbe did 
 not seem inclined to move. 
 
 "Nay nay!" she said. " 'Tis a wanton wastrel, 
 and he well deserves the pillory. But, Rebecca, I've 
 a mind to see what observance these people will give 
 the varlet. Last time I saw one pilloried, alas ! they 
 slew him with shards and paving-stones. This fellow 
 is liker to be pelted with nosegays, methinks." 
 
 "Mercy me, Phoebe ! Whatever what oh, good 
 ness gracious grandmother, child!" Poor Rebecca 
 could find only exclamations wherein to express her 
 feelings. She began to wonder if she were dreaming. 
 
 At this moment a sprightly, dashing lad, in ragged 
 clothing and bareheaded, sprang to the platform be 
 side the prisoner and waved his arms for silence. 
 
 There were cries of "Hear hear !" "Look at Bait 
 ing Will!" "Ho ho bully rook!" "Sh-sh-h!" 
 
 After a time the tumult subsided so that Baiting 
 Will could make himself heard. He was evidently 
 a well-known street wag, for his remarks were re 
 ceived with frequent laughter and vocal applause. 
 
 140
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 "Hear ye hear ye all good folk and merry!" he 
 shouted. "Here ye see the liege lord of all May 
 merry-makers. Hail to the King of the May, my 
 bully boys!" 
 
 "Ho ho! All hail!" 
 
 "Hurrah crown him, crown him!" 
 
 "The King of the May forever!" 
 
 By dint of bawling for silence till he was red in 
 the face, the speaker at length made himself heard 
 again. 
 
 "What say ye, my good hearts shall we have a 
 double coronation? Where's the quean will be his 
 consort? Bring her forward, lads. We'll crown the 
 twain." 
 
 This proposal was greeted with a roar of laughter 
 and approval, and a number of slattern women 
 showing the effects of strong ale in their faces 
 stepped boldly forward as competitors for corona 
 tion. 
 
 But again Baiting Will waved his arms for a 
 chance to speak. 
 
 "Nay, my merry lads and lasses," he cried, "it were 
 not meet to wed our gracious lord the king without 
 giving him a chance to choose his queen!" 
 
 He leaned his ear close to the grinning head, pre 
 tending to listen a moment. Then, standing for 
 ward, he cried: 
 
 "His gracious and sovereign majesty hath bid me 
 proclaim his choice. He bids ye send him up for 
 queen yon buxom dame in the black doublet and un- 
 
 141
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 ruffed neck her wi' the black wand and outland 
 scrip." 
 
 He pointed directly at Rebecca. She turned white 
 and started to push her way out of the crowd, but 
 those behind her joined hands, laughing and shout 
 ing: "A queen a queen!" 
 
 Two or three stout fellows from just beneath the 
 pillory elbowed their way to her side and grasped 
 her arms. 
 
 She struggled and shrieked in affright. 
 
 Phoebe with indignant face seized the arm of the 
 man nearest her and pulled lustily to free her sister. 
 
 "Stand aside, you knaves!" she cried, hotly. 
 "Know your betters and keep your greasy hands 
 for the sluttish queans of Southwark streets!" 
 
 The lads only grinned and tightened their hold. 
 Rebecca was struggling fiercely and in silence, save 
 for an occasional shriek of fear. 
 
 Phoebe raised her voice. 
 
 "Good people, will ye see a lady tousled by knavish 
 street brawlers ! What ho a rescue a Burton a 
 Burton a rescue ho!" 
 
 Her voice rose high above the coarse laughter and 
 chatter of the crowd. 
 
 "What's this? Who calls?" 
 
 The crowd parted to right and left with screams 
 and imprecations, and on a sudden two horsemen 
 reined up their steeds beside the sisters. 
 
 "Back, ye knaves! Unhand the lady!" cried the 
 younger of the two, striking out with his whip at the 
 heads of Rebecca's captors. 
 
 142
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 Putting up their hands to ward off these blows, 
 the fellows hastily retreated a few steps, leaving Re 
 becca and Phoabe standing alone. 
 
 "What's here!" cried the young man. "God warn 
 us, an it be not fair Mistress Burton herself!" 
 
 He leaped from his horse, and with the bridle in 
 one hand and his high-crowned hat in the other, he 
 advanced, bowing toward the sisters. 
 
 He was a strongly built young man of middle 
 height. His smooth face, broad brow, and pleasant 
 eyes were lighted up by a happy smile wherein were 
 shown a set of strong white teeth all too rare in the 
 England of his time. His abundant blond hair was 
 cut short on top, but hung down on each side, curling 
 slightly over his ears. He wore a full-skirted, long- 
 sleeved jerkin secured by a long row of many small 
 buttons down the front. A loose lace collar lay flat 
 over his shoulders and chest. His French hose was 
 black, and from the tops of his riding-boots there 
 protruded an edging of white lace. 
 
 He wore a long sword with a plain scabbard and 
 hilt, and on his hands were black gloves, well scented. 
 
 Pho2be's face wore a smile of pleased recognition, 
 and she stretched forth her right hand as the cavalier 
 approached. 
 
 "You come in good time, Sir Guy!" she said. 
 
 "In very sooth, most fair, most mellific damsel, 
 your unworthy servitor was erring enchanted in the 
 paradise of your divine idea when that the horrific 
 alarum did wend its fear-begetting course through 
 
 143
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 the labyrinthine corridors of his auricular senso- 
 ries." 
 
 Phoebe laughed, half in amusement half in soft 
 content. Then she turned to Rebecca, who stood 
 with wide-open eyes and mouth contemplating this 
 strange apparition. 
 
 "Be not confounded, sweetheart," she said. "Have 
 I not told thee I have ta'en on another's self. Come 
 thou art none the less dear, nor I less thine own." 
 
 She stepped forward and put her hand gently on 
 her sister's. 
 
 Rebecca looked with troubled eyes into Phoebe's 
 face and said, timidly: 
 
 "Won't ye go to a doctor's with me, Phoebe?" 
 
 There was a rude clatter of hoofs as the elder of 
 the new-comers trotted past the two women and, with 
 his whip drove back the advancing crowd, which had 
 begun to close in upon them again. 
 
 "You were best mount and away with the ladies, 
 Sir Guy," he said. "Yon scurvy loons are in poor 
 humor for dalliance." 
 
 With a graceful gesture, Sir Guy invited Phoebe 
 to approach his horse. She obeyed, and stepping 
 upon his hand found herself instantly seated before 
 his saddle. She seemed to find the seat familiar, and 
 her heart beat with a pleasure she could scarce ex 
 plain when, a moment later, the handsome cavalier 
 swung into place behind her and put one arm about 
 her waist to steady her. 
 
 Rebecca started forward, terror-stricken. 
 144
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 "Phoebe Phoebe !" she cried. "Ye wouldn't leave 
 me here I" 
 
 "Nay nay!" said a gruff but kindly voice at her 
 side. "Here, gi'e us your hand, dame, step on my 
 foot, and up behind you go." 
 
 Sir Guy's horse was turning to go, and in her panic 
 Rebecca awaited no second bidding, but scrambled 
 quickly though clumsily to a seat behind the serving- 
 man. 
 
 They were all four soon free of the crowd and out 
 of danger, thanks to the universal respect for rank 
 and the essential good nature of the May-day gath 
 ering. 
 
 The horses assumed an easy ambling gait, a sort 
 of single step which was far more comfortable than 
 Rebecca had feared she would find it. 
 
 The relief of deliverance from the rude mob be 
 hind her gave Rebecca courage, and she gazed about 
 with some interest. 
 
 On either side of the street the houses, which hith 
 erto had stood apart with gardens and orchards be 
 tween them, were now set close together, with the 
 wide eaves of their sharp gables touching over nar 
 row and dark alleyways. The architecture was un 
 like anything she had ever seen, the walls being built 
 with the beams showing outside and the windows of 
 many small diamond-shaped panes. 
 
 They had only proceeded a few yards when Re 
 becca saw the glint of sunbeams on water before them 
 and found that they were approaching a great square 
 
 145
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 tower, surmounted by numberless poles bearing form 
 less round masses at their ends. 
 
 With one arm around her companion to steady 
 herself, she held her umbrella and bag tightly in 
 her free hand. Now she pointed upward with her 
 umbrella and said: 
 
 "Do you mind tellin' me, mister, what's thet fruit 
 they're a-dryin' up on thet meetin'-house ?" 
 
 The horseman glanced upward for a moment and 
 then replied, with something of wonder in his voice : 
 
 "Why, those are men's heads, dame. Know you 
 not London Bridge and the traitors' poles yet?" 
 
 "Oh, good land!" said the horrified woman, and 
 shut her mouth tightly. Evidently England was not 
 the sort of country she had pictured it. 
 
 They rode into a long tunnel under the stones of 
 this massive tower and emerged to find themselves 
 upon the bridge. Again and again did they pass 
 under round-arched tunnels bored, as it were, through 
 gloomy buildings six or seven stories high. These 
 covered the bridge from end to end, and they 
 swarmed with a squalid humanity, if one might judge 
 from the calls and cries that resounded in the vaulted 
 passageways and interior courts. 
 
 As they finally came out from beneath the last 
 great rookery, the sisters found themselves in Lon 
 don, the great and busy city of four hundred thou 
 sand inhabitants. 
 
 They were on New Fish Street, and their nostrils 
 gave them witness of its name at once. Farther up 
 
 146
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 the slight ascent before them they met other and far 
 worse smells, and Rebecca was disgusted. 
 
 "Where are we goin'?" she asked. 
 
 "Why, to your mistress' residence, of course." 
 
 Rebecca was on the point of objecting to this char 
 acterization of her sister, but she thought better of 
 it ere she spoke. After all, if these men had done 
 all this kindness by reason of a mistake, she needed 
 not to correct them. 
 
 The street up which they were proceeding opened 
 into Gracechurch Street, leading still up the hill and 
 away from the Thames. It was a fairly broad high 
 way, but totally unpaved, and disgraced by a ditch 
 or "kennel" into which found their way the ill-smell 
 ing slops thrown from the windows and doors of the 
 abutting houses. 
 
 "Good land o' Goshen!" Rebecca exclaimed at last. 
 "Why in goodness' name does all the folks throw 
 sech messes out in the street?" 
 
 "Why, where would you have them throw them, 
 dame?" asked her companion, in surprise. "Are ye 
 outlandish bred that ye put me such questions?" 
 
 "Not much!" she retorted, hotly. "It's you folks 
 that's outlandish. Why, where I come from they 
 hev sewers in the city streets an' pavements an' side 
 walks an' trolley cars. Guess I've ben to Keene, an' 
 I ought to know." 
 
 She tossed her head with the air of one who has 
 said something conclusive. 
 
 The man held his peace for a moment, dumfound- 
 147
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 ed. Then he laughed heartily, with head thrown 
 back. 
 
 "That's what comes of a kittenish hoyden for a 
 mistress. Abroad too early, dame, and strong ale 
 before sunrise! These have stolen away your wits 
 and made ye hold strange discourse. Sewers side- 
 walkers forsooth troll carries, ho ho!" 
 
 Rebecca grew red with fury. She released her 
 hold to thump her companion twice on the arm and 
 nearly fell from the horse in consequence. 
 
 "You great rascal!" she cried, indignantly. "How 
 dare ye talk 'bout drinkin' ale! D'you s'pose I'd 
 touch the nasty stuff? Me a member of the Wom 
 an's Christian Temperance Union ! Me a Daughter 
 of Temperance an' wearin' the blue ribbon! You'd 
 ought to be ashamed, that's what you ought!" 
 
 But the servant continued to laugh quietly and 
 Rebecca raged within. Oh how she hated to have 
 to sit thus close behind a man who had so insulted 
 her! Clinging to him, too! Clinging for dear life 
 to a man who accused her of drinking ale ! 
 
 They turned to the left into Leadenhall Street and 
 Bucklesbury, where the two women sniffed with de 
 lighted relief the spicy odor of the herbs exposed 
 on every hand for sale. They left Gresham's Royal 
 Exchange on the right, and shortly afterward stopped 
 before the door of one of the many well-to-do houses 
 of that quarter. 
 
 Sir Guy and the two women dismounted, and, 
 while the groom held the horses, the others ap- 
 
 148
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 preached the building before which they had 
 paused. 
 
 Rebecca was about to address Phoebe, whose blush 
 ing face was beaming with pleasure, when the door 
 was suddenly thrown open and a happy-looking bux 
 om woman of advanced middle age appeared. 
 
 "Well well well!" she cried, holding up her fat 
 hands in mock amazement. "Out upon thee, Polly, 
 for a light-headed wench! What sneaking out to 
 an early tryst! Fie, girl!" 
 
 "Now, good mine aunt," Phoebe broke in, with a 
 smile and a curtsey, "no tryst have I kept, in sooth. 
 Sir Guy is my witness that he found me quite by 
 chance." 
 
 "In very truth, good Mistress Goldsmith," said the 
 knight, "it was but the very bounteous guerdon of 
 fair Dame Fortune that in the auspicious forthcom 
 ing of my steed I found the inexpressible delectancy 
 of my so great discovery!" 
 
 He bowed as he gave back one step and kissed his 
 hand toward Phoebe. 
 
 "All one all one," said Dame Goldsmith, laugh 
 ing as she held out her hand to Phoebe. "My good 
 man hath a homily prepared for you, mistress, and 
 the substance of it runneth on the folly of early 
 rising on a May-day morning." 
 
 Phoebe held forth her hand to the knight, who 
 kissed it with a flourish, hat in hand. 
 
 "Shall I hear from thee soon?" she said, in an un 
 dertone. 
 
 149
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Forthwith, most fairly beautiful most gracious 
 rare!" he replied. 
 
 Then, leaping on his horse, he dashed down the 
 street at a mad gallop, followed closely by his groom. 
 
 Rebecca stood stupefied, gazing first at one and 
 then at the other, till she was rudely brought to her 
 senses by no other than Dame Goldsmith herself. 
 
 "What, Rebecca !" she exclaimed. "Hast break 
 fasted, woman what?" 
 
 "Ay, aunt," Phoebe broke in, hurriedly. "Rebecca 
 must to my chamber to tire me ere I see mine uncle. 
 Prithee temper the fury of his homily, sweet aunt." 
 
 Taking the dame's extended hand, she suffered 
 herself to be led within, followed by Rebecca, too 
 amazed to speak. 
 
 On entering the street door they found themselves 
 in a large hall, at the farther end of which a bright 
 wood fire was burning, despite the season. A black 
 oak table was on one side of the room against the 
 wall, upon which were to be seen a number of earthen 
 beakers and a great silver jug or tankard. A carved 
 and cushioned settle stood against the opposite wall, 
 and besides two comfortable arm-chairs at the two 
 chimney-corners there were two or three heavy chairs 
 of antique pattern standing here and there. The 
 floor was covered with newly gathered fresh-smelling 
 rushes. 
 
 A wide staircase led to the right, and to this Phoebe 
 turned at once as though she had always lived there. 
 
 "Hast heard from my father yet ?" she asked, paus- 
 150
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 ing upon the first stair and addressing Dame Gold 
 smith. 
 
 "Nay, girl. Not so much as a word. I trow he'll 
 have but little to say to me. Ay ay a humorous 
 limb, thy father, lass." 
 
 She swept out of the room with a toss of the head, 
 and Phoebe smiled as she turned to climb the stairs. 
 Immediately she turned again and held out one hand 
 to Rebecca. 
 
 "Come along, Rebecca. Let's run 'long up," she 
 said, relapsing into her old manner. 
 
 She led the way without hesitation to a large, light 
 bedroom, the front of which hung over the street. 
 Here, too, the floor was covered with sweet rushes, 
 a fact which Rebecca seemed to resent. 
 
 "Why the lands sakes do you suppose these Lon 
 don folks dump weeds on their floors?" she asked. 
 "An' look there at those two beds, still unmade and 
 all tumbled disgraceful!" 
 
 "Why, there's where we slept last night, Rebecca," 
 said Phoebe, laughing as she dropped into a chair. 
 "As for the floors," she continued, "they're always 
 that way when folks ain't mighty rich. The lords 
 and all have carpets and rugs." 
 
 Rebecca, stepping very high to avoid stumbling 
 in the rushes, moved over to the dressing-table and 
 proceeded to remove her outer wraps, having first 
 deposited her bag and umbrella on a chair. 
 
 "I don't see how in gracious you know so much 
 about it," she remarked, querulously. " 'Pon my 
 
 151
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 word, you acted with that young jackanapes an' that 
 fat old lady downstairs jest's ef you'd allus known 
 em." 
 
 "Well, so I have," Phoebe replied, smiling. "I 
 knew them all nearly three hundred years before 
 you were born, Rebecca Wise." 
 
 Rebecca dropped into a chair and looked helplessly 
 at her sister with her arms hanging at her sides. 
 
 "Phoebe Wise " she began. 
 
 "No, not now!" Phoebe exclaimed, stopping her 
 sister with a gesture. "You must call me Mistress 
 Mary. I'm Mary Burton, daughter of Isaac Burton, 
 soon to be Sir Isaac Burton, of Burton Hall. You 
 are my dear old tiring-woman my sometime nurse 
 and thou must needs yield me the respect and obe 
 dience as well as the love thou owest, thou fond old 
 darling!" 
 
 The younger woman threw her arms about the 
 other's neck and kissed her repeatedly. 
 
 Rebecca sat mute and impassive, making no re 
 turn. 
 
 "Seems as though I ought to wake up soon now," 
 she muttered, weakly. 
 
 "Come, Rebecca," Phoebe exclaimed, briskly, step 
 ping to a high, carved wardrobe beside her bed, "this 
 merry-making habit wearies me. Let us don a fitter 
 attire. Come lend a hand, dearie be quick!" 
 
 Rebecca sat quite still, watching her sister as she 
 proceeded to change her garments, taking from ward 
 robe and tiring chest her wide skirts, long-sleeved 
 
 152
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 jacket, and striped under-vest with a promptitude 
 and readiness that showed perfect familiarity with 
 her surroundings. 
 
 "There," thought Rebecca, "I have it ! She's been 
 reading those old letters and looking at that ivory 
 picture so long she thinks that she's the girl in the 
 picture herself, now. Yes, that's it. Mary Burton 
 was the name!" 
 
 When Phoebe was new-dressed, her sister could 
 not but acknowledge inwardly that the queer clothes 
 were mightily becoming. She appeared the beau 
 ideal of a merry, light-hearted, healthy girl from 
 the country. 
 
 On one point, however, Rebecca could not refrain 
 from expostulating. 
 
 "Look a-here, Phoebe," she said, in a scandalized 
 voice, as she rose and faced her sister, "ain't you goin' 
 to put on somethin' over your chest? That ain't 
 decent the way you've got yerself fixed now!" 
 
 "Nonsense!" cried Phoebe, with a mischievous 
 twinkle in her eye. "Wouldst have me cover my 
 breast like a married woman! Look to thine own 
 attire. Come, where hast put it?" 
 
 Rebecca put her hands on her hips and looked into 
 her sister's face with a stern determination. 
 
 "Ef you think I'm agoin' to put on play-actor 
 clothes an' go round lookin' indecent, Phoebe Wise, 
 why, you're mistaken 'cause I ain't so there!" 
 
 "Nay, nurse !" Phoebe exclaimed, earnestly. " 'Tis 
 the costume thou art wearing now that is mummer's 
 
 153
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 weeds. Come, sweet come ! They'll not yield tliee 
 admittance below else." 
 
 She concluded with a warning inflection, and shook 
 her finger affectionately at her sister. 
 
 Rebecca opened her mouth several times and 
 closed it again in despair ere she could find a reply. 
 At length she seated herself slowly, folded her arms, 
 and said: 
 
 "They can do jest whatever they please downstairs, 
 Phoebe. As fer me, I'd sooner be seen in my night 
 gown than in the flighty, flitter-scatter duds the 
 women 'round here wear. Not. but you look good 
 enough in 'em, if you'd cover your chest, but play- 
 actin' is meant for young folks not fer old maids 
 like me." 
 
 "Nay but " 
 
 "What the lands sakes d'ye holler neigh all the 
 time fer? I'm not agoin' to neigh, an' you might 's 
 well make up your mind to't." 
 
 Phoebe bit her lips and then, after a moment's 
 hesitation, turned to the door. 
 
 "Well, well! E'en have it thy way!" she said. 
 
 Followed by Rebecca, the younger woman de 
 scended the stairs. As she reached the entrance hall, 
 she stopped short at sight of a tall, heavy man stand 
 ing beside the table across the room with his face 
 buried in a great stone mug. 
 
 He had dropped his flat round hat upon the table, 
 and his long hair fell in a sort of bush to his wide, 
 white-frilled ruff. He wore a long-skirted, loose coat 
 
 154
 
 NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 
 
 of green cloth with yellow fringe, provided with 
 large side-pockets, but without a belt. The sleeves 
 were loose, but brought in tightly at the wrists by 
 yellow bands. His green hose were of the short and 
 tight French pattern, and he wore red stockings and 
 pointed shoes of Spanish leather. 
 
 As he removed the cup with a deep sigh of satis 
 faction, there was revealed a large, cheerful red face 
 with a hooked nose between bushy brows overhang 
 ing large blue eyes. 
 
 Phrebe stood upon the lowest stair in smiling silence 
 and with folded hands as he caught her eye. 
 
 "Ha, thou jade!" cried Master Goldsmith, for he 
 it was. "Wilt give me the slip of a May-day morn!" 
 
 He set down his cup with a loud bang and strode 
 over to the staircase, shaking his finger playfully at 
 his niece. 
 
 Rebecca had just time to notice that his long, full 
 beard and mustache were decked with two or three 
 spots of froth when, to her great indignation, Phoebe 
 was folded in his arms and soundly kissed on both 
 cheeks. 
 
 "There, lass!" he chuckled, as he stepped back, 
 rubbing his hands. "I told thy aunt I'd make thee 
 do penance for thy folly." 
 
 Phrebe wiped her cheeks with her handkerchief 
 and tipped her head impudently at the cheerful rav- 
 isher. 
 
 "Now, God mend your manners, uncle!" she ex 
 claimed. "What ! Bedew my cheeks with the froth 
 
 155
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 of good ale on your beard while my throat lacks the 
 good body o't! Why, I'm burned up wi' thirst!" 
 
 "Good lack!" cried the goldsmith, turning briskly 
 to the table. "Had ye no drink when ye first re 
 turned, then?" 
 
 He poured a smaller cupful of foaming ale from 
 the great silver jug and brought it to Phoebe. 
 
 Rebecca clutched the stair-rail for support, and, 
 with eyes ready to start from her head, she leaned 
 forward, incredulous, as Phoebe took the cup from 
 the merchant's hand. 
 
 Then she could keep silence no longer. 
 
 "Phoebe Wise!" she screamed, "be you goin* to 
 drink ALE!" 
 
 JSTo words can do justice to the awful emphasis 
 which she laid upon that last dread word. 
 
 Phoebe turned and looked up roguishly at her sis 
 ter, who was still half-way up the stairs. The young 
 girl's left hand leaned on her uncle's arm, while with 
 her right she extended the cup in salutation. 
 
 "Here's thy good health, nurse and to our better 
 acquaintance," she laughed. 
 
 Rebecca uttered one short scream and fled up to 
 their bed-room. She had seen the impossible. Her 
 sister Phoebe with her face buried in a mug of ale ! 
 
 156
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 HOW FEANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 It was at about this time that Copernicus Droop 
 finally awakened. He lay perfectly still for a min 
 ute or two, wondering where he was and what had 
 happened. Then he began to mutter to himself. 
 
 "Machinery's stopped, so we're on dry land," he 
 said. Then, starting up on one elbow, he listened 
 intently. 
 
 Within the air-ship all was perfect silence, but 
 from without there came in faintly occasional symp 
 toms of life the bark of a dog, a loud laugh, the 
 cry of a child. 
 
 Droop slowly came to his feet and gazed about. 
 A faint gleam of daylight found its way past the 
 closed shutters. He raised the blinds and blinked 
 as he gazed out into a perfect thicket of trees and 
 shrubbery, beyond which here and there he thought 
 he could distinguish a high brick wall. 
 
 "Well, we're in the country, anyhow!" he mut 
 tered. 
 
 He turned and consulted the date indicator in the 
 ceiling. 
 
 "May 1, 1598," he said. "Great Jonah! but we 
 157
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 hev whirled back fer keeps! I s'pose we jest whirled 
 till she broke loose." 
 
 He gazed about him and observed that the two 
 state-room doors were open. He walked over and 
 looked in. 
 
 "I wonder where them women went," he said. 
 "Seems like they were in a tremendous hurry 'bout 
 gettin' way. Lucky 'tain't a city we're in, 'cause 
 they might'v got lost in the city." 
 
 After an attempt to improve his somewhat rum 
 pled exterior, he made his way down the stairs and 
 out into the garden. Once here, he quickly discov 
 ered the building which had arrested the attention 
 of the two women, but it being now broad daylight, 
 he was able thoroughly to satisfy himself that chance 
 had brought the Panchronicon into the deserted gar 
 den of a deserted mansion. 
 
 "Wai, we'll be private an' cosy here till the Pan 
 chronicon hez time to store up more force," he said 
 out loud. 
 
 Strolling forward, he skirted the high wall, and 
 ere long discovered the very opening through which 
 the sisters had passed at sunrise. 
 
 Stepping through the breach, he found himself, 
 as they had done, near the main London highway 
 in Newington village. The hurly-burly of sunrise 
 had abated by this time, for wellnigh all the vil 
 lagers were absent celebrating the day around 
 their respective May-poles or at bear or bull-bait 
 ing. 
 
 158
 
 HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 With his hands behind him, he walked soberly up 
 and down for a few minutes, carefully surveying the 
 pretty wooden houses, the church in the distance, and 
 the stones of the churchyard on the green hill-slope 
 beyond. The architecture was not entirely unfamil 
 iar. He had seen such in books, he felt sure, but he 
 could not positively identify it. Was it Kussian, 
 Japanese, or Italian? 
 
 Suddenly a distant cry came to his ears. 
 
 "Hi Lizzie Lizzie, wench ! Come, drive the pig 
 out o' the cabbages!" 
 
 He stopped short and slapped his thigh. 
 
 "English!" he exclaimed. " 'Tain't America, 
 that's dead sure. Then it's England. England in 
 1598," he continued, scratching his head. "Let's see. 
 Who in Sam Hill was runnin' things in 1598? Rich 
 ard Coor de Lion Henry Eight no or was it Joan 
 of Arc? Be darned ef I know!" 
 
 He looked about him again and selected a neigh 
 boring house which he thought promised informa 
 tion. 
 
 He went to the front door and knocked. There 
 was no reply, despite many attempts to arouse the 
 inmates. 
 
 "Might ha' known," he muttered, and started 
 around the house, where he found a side door half 
 hidden beneath the projection of an upper story. 
 
 Here his efforts were rewarded at last by the ap 
 pearance of a very old woman in a peaked hat and 
 coif, apparently on the point of going out. 
 
 159
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Looks like a witch in the story-books," he 
 thought, but his spoken comment was more polite. 
 
 "Good-mornin', ma'am," he said. "Would you be 
 so kind as to tell me the name of this town?" 
 
 "This be Newington," she replied, in a high, 
 cracked voice. 
 
 "Newington," he replied, with a nod and a smile 
 intended to express complete enlightenment. "Ah, 
 yes Newington. Quite a town!" 
 
 "Is that all you'd be askin', young man?" said the 
 old woman, a little suspiciously, eyeing his strange 
 garb. 
 
 "Why, yes no that is, can you tell me how far 
 it is to London?" This was the only English city of 
 which he had any knowledge, so he naturally sought 
 to identify his locality by reference to it. 
 
 "Lunnun," said the woman. "Oh, it'll be a matter 
 of a mile or better!" 
 
 Droop was startled, but highly pleased. Here was 
 luck indeed. 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "Good-mornin'," 
 and with a cheerful nod, he made off. 
 
 The fact is that this information opened up a new 
 field of enterprise and hope. At once there leaped 
 into his mind an improved revival of his original 
 plan. If he could have made a fortune with his great 
 inventions in 1876, what might he not accomplish 
 by the same means in 1598! He pictured to him 
 self the delight of the ancient worthies when they 
 heard the rag-time airs and minstrel jokes produced 
 by his phonograph. 
 
 160
 
 HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 "By hockey!" he exclaimed, in irrepressible de 
 light, "I'll make their gol darned eyes pop out!" 
 
 As he marched up and down in the deserted gar 
 den, hidden by the friendly brick wall, he bitterly 
 regretted that he had limited himself to so few mod 
 ern inventions. 
 
 "Ef I'd only known I was comin' this fur back !" 
 he exclaimed, as he talked to himself that he might 
 feel less lonely. "Ef I'd only known, I could hev 
 brought a heap of other things jest's well as not. 
 Might hev taught 'em 'bout telegraphin' an' tele 
 phones. Could ha' given 'em steam-engines an' par 
 lor matches. By ginger!" he exclaimed, "I b'lieve 
 I've got some parlor matches. Great Jehosaphat! 
 Won't I get rich!" 
 
 But at this a new difficulty presented itself to his 
 mind. He foresaw no trouble in procuring patents 
 for his inventions, but how about the capital for their 
 exploitation? Presumably this was quite as neces 
 sary here in England as it would have been in Amer 
 ica in 1876. Unfortunately, his original plan was 
 impossible of fulfilment. Rebecca had failed him 
 as a capitalist. Besides, she and Phrebe had both 
 completely disappeared. 
 
 It was long before he saw his way out of this diffi 
 culty, but by dint of persistent pondering he finally 
 lit upon a plan. 
 
 He had brought with him a camera, several hun 
 dred plates, and a complete developing and printing 
 outfit. He determined to set up as a professional 
 
 161
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 photographer. His living would cost him nothing, 
 as the Panchronicon was well stored with provisions. 
 To judge by his surroundings, his privacy would prob 
 ably be respected. Then, by setting up as a photog 
 rapher he would at least earn a small amount of 
 current coin and perhaps attract some rich and pow 
 erful backer by the novelty and excellence of his 
 process. On this chance he relied for procuring the 
 capital which was undoubtedly necessary for his 
 purpose. 
 
 By noon of the next day he had begun operations, 
 having taken two or three views of familiar scenes 
 in the neighborhood, which he affixed as samples 
 to a large cardboard sign on which he had printed, 
 in large type: 
 
 AMERICAN PHOTOGRAPHER 
 
 THE ONLY ONE IN EXISTENCE 
 
 Step up and have your picture taken 
 
 This sign he nailed to a tree near the road which 
 he made his headquarters. He preferred to keep the 
 location and nature of his abode a secret, and so spent 
 his days under his tree or sitting in the porch of some 
 neighboring house, for he was not long in making 
 friends, and his marvellous tales made him very 
 popular. 
 
 It was difficult for him to fix a price at first, not 
 162
 
 HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 being acquainted with the coin of the realm, but he 
 put his whole mind to the acquisition of reliable in 
 formation on this point, and his native shrewdness 
 brought him success. 
 
 He found that it was wisest for every reason to 
 let it be believed that the pictures were produced 
 by hand. The camera, he explained, was a mere aid 
 to accuracy of observation and memory in reproduc 
 tion of what he saw through it. Thus he was able 
 to command much higher prices for the excellence 
 and perfection of his work and, had he but known it, 
 further avoided suspicion of witchcraft which would 
 probably have attached to him had he let it be known 
 that the camera really produced the picture. 
 
 In the course of his daily gossip with neighbors 
 and with the customers, rustic and urban, who were 
 attracted by his fame, he soon learned that "Good 
 Queen Bess" ruled the land, and his speech grad 
 ually took on a tinge of the Elizabethan manner and 
 vocabulary which, mingling with his native New 
 England idioms, produced a very picturesque effect. 
 
 It was a warm night some weeks after Droop had 
 "hung out his shingle" as a professional photographer 
 that he sat in the main room of the Panchronicon, 
 reading for perhaps the twentieth time Phoebe's fa 
 mous book on Bacon and Shakespeare, which she had 
 left behind. The other books on hand he found too 
 dry, and he whiled away his idle hours with this in 
 valuable historic work, feeling that its tone was in 
 harmony with his recent experiences. 
 
 163
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 So to-night he was reading with the shutters tight 
 ly closed to prevent attracting the gaze of outsiders. 
 No one had yet discovered his residence, and he had 
 flattered himself that it would remain permanently 
 a secret. 
 
 His surprise and consternation were great, there 
 fore, when he was suddenly disturbed in his reading 
 by a gentle knocking on the door at the foot of the 
 stairs. 
 
 "Great Jonah!" he exclaimed, closing his book and 
 cocking his head to listen. "Now, who wonder ef 
 it's Cousin Rebecca or Phoebe!" 
 
 The knock was repeated. 
 
 "Why, 'f course 'tis!" he said. "Couldn't be any 
 body else. Funny they never come back sooner!" 
 
 He laid his book upon the table and started down 
 the stairs just as the knocking was heard for the 
 third time. 
 
 "Comin' comin'!" he cried. "Save the pieces!" 
 
 He threw open the door and started back in alarm 
 as there entered a strange man wrapped in a black 
 cloak, which he held so as to completely hide his 
 features. 
 
 The new-comer sprang into the little hallway and 
 hastily closed the door behind him. 
 
 "Close in the light, friend," he said. 
 
 Then, glancing about him, he ascended the stairs 
 and entered the main room above. 
 
 Droop followed him closely, rubbing his hand 
 through his hair in perplexity. This intrusion threat- 
 
 164
 
 HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 ened to spoil his plans. It would never do to have 
 the neighbors swarming around the Panchronicon. 
 
 The stranger threw off his cloak on entering the 
 upper room and turned to face his host. 
 
 "I owe you sincere acknowledgment of thanks, 
 good sir," he said, gravely. 
 
 He appeared to be about thirty-five years of age,' 
 a man of medium stature, dark of hair and eyes, with 
 a pale, intellectual face and a close-clipped beard. 
 His entire apparel was black, save for his well- 
 starched ruff of moderate depth and the lace ruffles 
 at his wrists. 
 
 "Wai, I dunno," Droop retorted. "Marry, an I 
 hed known as thou wast not an acquaintance 
 
 "You would not have given me admittance?" 
 
 The calm, dark eyes gazed with disconcerting 
 steadiness into Droop's face. 
 
 "Oh well I ain't sayin' " 
 
 "I hope I have not intruded to your hurt or seri 
 ous confusion, friend," said the stranger, glancing 
 about him. "To tell the very truth, your hospitable 
 shelter hath offered itself in the hour of need." 
 
 "What doth it raineth eh?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 "What can I do fer ye? Take a seat," said Droop, 
 as the stranger dropped into a chair. "Thou know- 
 est, forsooth, that I don't take photygraphs at night 
 marry, no!" 
 
 "Are you, then, the new limner who makes pic 
 tures by aid of the box and glass?" 
 
 165
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Yea that's what I am," said Droop. 
 
 "I was ignorant of the location of your dwelling. 
 Indeed, it is pure accident a trick of Fortune that 
 hath brought me to your door to-night." 
 
 Droop seated himself and directed an interrogative 
 gaze at his visitor. 
 
 "My name's Droop Copernicus Droop," he said. 
 "An' you " 
 
 "My name is Francis Bacon, Master Droop your 
 servitor," he bowed slightly. 
 
 Droop started up stiff and straight in his chair. 
 
 "Francis Bacon!" he exclaimed. "What! Not 
 the one as wrote Shakespeare?" 
 
 "Shakespeare Shakespeare!" said the stranger, 
 in a slow, puzzled tone. "I do admit having made 
 some humble essays in writing certain modest com 
 mentaries upon human motives and relations 
 but, in good sooth, the title you have named, 
 Master Droop, is unknown to me. Shakespeare 
 Shakespeare. Pray, sir, is it a homily or an 
 essay?" 
 
 "Why, ye see, et's as fur's I know it's a man 
 a sorter poet or genius or play-writin' man," said 
 Droop, somewhat confused. 
 
 "A man a poet a genius?" Bacon repeated, 
 gravely. "Then, prithee, friend, how meant you in 
 saying you thought me him who had written Shake 
 speare? Can a man a poet be written?" 
 
 "Nay verily in good sooth marry, no!" stut 
 tered Droop. "What they mean is thet 'twas you 
 
 166
 
 HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 wrote the things Shakespeare put his name to you 
 did, didn't you?" 
 
 "Ahem!" said the stranger, with dubious slowness. 
 "A poet a genius, you say? And I understand that 
 I am reputed to have been the true author of eh?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed yea la!" exclaimed Droop, now 
 sadly confused. 
 
 "Might I ask the name of some work imputed to 
 me, and which this this Shake eh " 
 
 "Shakespeare." 
 
 "Ay, this Shakespeare hath impudently claimed 
 for his own credit and reputation?" 
 
 "Well why suffer me jest wait a minute," 
 said Droop. He clutched the book he had been 
 reading and opened it at random. "Here," he said. 
 " 'Love's Labor's Lost,' for instance." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Bacon, starting indignantly to 
 his feet. " 'Tis but a sennight I saw this same dull 
 nonsense played by the Lord Chamberlain's players. 
 'Love's Labor's " he broke off and repressed his 
 choler with some effort. Then in a slow, grave voice 
 he continued : "Why, sir, you have been sadly abused. 
 Surely the few essays I have made in the field of 
 letters may stand my warrant that I should not so 
 demean myself as is implied in this repute of me. 
 Pray tell me, sir, who are they that so besmirch my 
 reputation as to impute to my poor authority the 
 pitiful lines of this rascal player?" 
 
 "Why, in very truth marry, it's in that book. 
 It was printed in Chicago." 
 
 167
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Bacon glanced contemptuously at the volume with 
 out deigning to open it. 
 
 "And prithee, Master Droop, where may Chicago 
 be?" 
 
 "Why it was in no ! I mean it will be oh, darn 
 it all! Chicago's in Illinois." 
 
 "Illinois yes and Illinois?" Bacon's dark eyes 
 were turned in grave question upon his companion. 
 
 "Why, that's in America, ye know." 
 
 "Oh !" said Bacon. Then, with a sigh of great 
 relief: "Ah!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Yea, verily in sooth or or thereabouts," said 
 Droop, not knowing what to say. 
 
 "Ah, in America! A land of heathen savages 
 red-skinned hunters of men. Yes yes! 'Twere not 
 impossible such persons might so misapprehend my 
 powers. 'Twould lie well within their shallow in 
 capacities, methinks, to impute to Francis Bacon, 
 Barrister of Gray's Inn, Member of Parliament for 
 Melcombe, Reversionary Clerk of the Star Chamber, 
 the friend of the Earl of Essex to impute to me, I 
 say, these frothings of a villain player this Shake 
 eh? What?" 
 
 "Shakespeare." 
 
 Ay." 
 
 Bacon paced placidly up and down for a few mo 
 ments, while Droop followed him apologetically with 
 his eyes. Evidently this was a most important per 
 sonage. It behooved him to conciliate such a power 
 as this. Who could tell! Perhaps this friend of 
 
 168
 
 HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 the Earl of Essex might be the capitalist for whom 
 he was in search. 
 
 For some time Master Bacon paced back and forth 
 in silence, evidently wrapped in his own thoughts. 
 In the -meantime Droop's hopes rose higher and 
 higher, and at length he could no longer contain 
 himself. 
 
 "Why, Master Bacon," he said, "I'm clean sur 
 prised yea, marry, am I that anybody could hev 
 ben sech a fool a eh? Well, a loon what? as 
 to hev said you wrote Shakespeare. You're a man 
 o' science that's what you are. You don't concern 
 yourself with no trumpery poetry. I can see that 
 stickin' out." 
 
 Bacon was startled and examined himself hur 
 riedly. 
 
 "What!" he exclaimed, "what is sticking out, 
 friend?" 
 
 "Oh, I was jest sayin' it in the sense of the word!" 
 said Droop, apologetically. "What I mean is, it's 
 clear that you're not a triflin' poet, but a man of 
 science eh?" 
 
 "Why, no. I do claim some capacity in the di 
 viner nights of lyric letters, friend. You are not 
 to despise poetry. Nay rather contemn those who 
 bring scorn to the name of poet vain writ 
 ers for filthy pence fellows like this same Shakes 
 peare." 
 
 "Yes that's what I meant," said Droop, anxious 
 to come to the point. "But your high-water mark 
 
 169
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 is science philosophy all that. Now, you're some- 
 thin' of a capitalist, too, I surmise." 
 
 He paused expectant. 
 
 "A what, friend?" 
 
 "Why, you're in some Trust er other, ain't ye? 
 Member of Congress I mean Parlyinent friend of 
 Lord What's-'is-name Clerk of the Star suthin' or 
 other. Guess you're pretty middlin' rich, ain't ye?" 
 
 Bacon's face grew long at these words, and he 
 seated himself in evident melancholy. 
 
 "Why, to speak truth, friend," he said, "I find 
 myself at this moment in serious straits. Indeed, 'tis 
 an affair of a debt that hath driven me thus to your 
 door." 
 
 "A debt!" said Droop, his heart sinking. 
 
 "Ay. The plain truth is, that at this moment I 
 am followed by two bailiffs bearers of an execu 
 tion of arrest upon my person. 'Twas to evade these 
 fellows that I entered this deserted garden, leaving 
 my horse without. 'Tis for this cause I am here. 
 Now, Master Droop, you know the whole truth." 
 
 "Great Jonah!" said Droop, helplessly. "But 
 didn't you say you had friends?" 
 
 ''None better, Master Droop. My uncle is Lord 
 Burleigh Lord High Treasurer to her Gracious 
 Majesty. My patron is the Earl of Essex " 
 
 "Why don't they give ye a lift?" 
 
 Bacon's face grew graver. 
 
 "Essex is away," he said. "On his return my ne 
 cessities will be speedily relieved. As for mine uncle, 
 
 170
 
 HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 to him have I applied; but his lordship lives in the 
 sunshine of her Majesty's smiles, and he cannot be 
 too sudden in aid of Francis Bacon for fear of losing 
 the Queen's favor else." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "A long tale of politics, friend. A speech made 
 by me in Parliament in opposing monopolies." 
 
 "Oh!" said Droop, dismally. "You're down on 
 monopolies, air ye?" 
 
 Bacon turned a wary eye upon his companion. 
 
 "Why ask you this?" he said. 
 
 "Why, only to " He paused. "To say sooth," 
 he continued, with sudden resolution, "I want to get 
 a monopoly myself two or three of 'em. I've got 
 some Al inventions here, an' I want to get 'em pat 
 ented. I thought, perhaps, you or your friends might 
 help me." 
 
 "Ah!" Bacon exclaimed, with awakening interest. 
 "You seek my influence in furtherance of these de 
 signs. Do I apprehend you?" 
 
 'That's jest it," said Droop. 
 
 "And what would be the ahem the recognition 
 which " 
 
 "Why, you'd git a quarter interest in the hull busi 
 ness," said Droop, hopefully. "That is, provided 
 you've got the inflooence, ye know." 
 
 "Too slight too slight for Francis Bacon, Mastei 
 Droop." 
 
 Copernicus thought rapidly for a minute or two. 
 Then he pretended indifference. 
 
 171
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Oh, very good!" he said. "I'll take up with Sir 
 Thomas Thingumbob WhatV'is-naine." 
 
 Bacon pretended to accept the decision and 
 changed the subject. 
 
 "Xow permit me to approach the theme of my 
 immediate need,'' he said. "These bailiffs without 
 they must be evaded. May I have your assistance, 
 friend, in this matter?" 
 
 "Why what can I do?" 
 
 "Pray observe me with all attention," Bacon be 
 gan. "These my habiliments are of the latest fashion 
 and of rich texture. Your habit is, if I may so speak, 
 of inferior fashion and substance. I will exchange 
 my habit for yours on this condition that you 
 mount my horse forthwith and ride away. The 
 moon is bright and you will be pursued at once by 
 these scurvy bailiffs. Lead them astray, Master 
 Droop, to the southward, whilst I slip away to Lon 
 don in your attire, wherein I feel sure no man will 
 recognize me. Once in London, there is a friend 
 of mine one Master Isaac Burton who is hourly 
 expected and from whom I count upon having some 
 advances to stand me in present stead. What say 
 you? Will you accept new clothing and rich for 
 old and worn?" 
 
 Droop approached his visitor and slowly examined 
 his clothing, gravely feeling the stuff between thumb 
 and finger and even putting his hand inside the 
 doublet to feel the lining. Bacon's outraged dignity 
 struggled within him with the sense of his necessity. 
 
 172
 
 HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 Finally, just as he was about to give violent expres 
 sion to his impatience, Droop stepped back and took 
 in the general effect with one eye closed and his head 
 cocked on one side. 
 
 "Jest turn round, will ye I** he said, with a whirl 
 ing movement of the hand, "an* let me see how it 
 looks in the back?" 
 
 Biting his lipe, the furious barrister turned about 
 and walked away. 
 
 "Needs must where the devil drives," he mut 
 tered. 
 
 Droop shook his head dismally. 
 
 "Marry, come up!" he exclaimed. "I guess I can't 
 make the bargain, friend Bacon." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "I don't like the cut o' them clothes. Fd look 
 rideec'lous in 'em. Besides, the's too much risk in 
 it, Bacon, my boy," he said, familiarly, throwing 
 himself into the arm-chair and stretching out his legs 
 comfortably. "Ef the knaves was to catch me an* 
 find out the trick Fd played 'em, why, sure as a gun, 
 they'd put me in the lock-up an' try me fer stealin* 
 your duds your habiliments." 
 
 "Xay, then," Bacon exclaimed, eagerly, "Fll give 
 you a writing, Master Droop, certifying that the 
 clothes were sold to yon for a consideration. That 
 will hold you blameless. What say you?" 
 
 "What about the horse and the saddle and bridle f 
 
 "These are borrowed from a friend, Master 
 Droop," said Bacon. "These rascals know this, else 
 had they seized them in execution." 
 
 1Y3
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Ah, but won't they seize your clothes, Brother 
 Bacon?" said Droop, slyly. 
 
 "Tay that were unlawful. A man's attire is free 
 from process of execution." 
 
 "I'll tell ye wherein I'll go ye," said Droop, with 
 sudden animation. "You give me that certificate, 
 that bill of sale, you mentioned, and also a first-class 
 letter to some lord or political chap with a pull at 
 the Patent Office, an' I'll change clothes with ye an' 
 fool them bailiff chaps." 
 
 "I'll e'en take your former offer, then," said Ba 
 con, with a sigh. "One fourth part of all profits was 
 the proposal, was it not?" 
 
 "Oh, that's all off!" said Droop, grandly, with a 
 wave of the hand. "If I go out an' risk my neck in 
 them skin-tight duds o' yourn, I get the hull profits 
 an' you get to London safe an' sound in these New 
 Hampshire pants." 
 
 "'But, good sir " 
 
 "Take it or leave it, friend." 
 
 "Well," said Bacon, angrily, after a few moments' 
 hesitation, "have your will. Give me ink, pen, and 
 paper." 
 
 These being produced, the barrister curiously ex 
 amined the wooden penholder and steel pen. 
 
 "Why, Master Droop," he said, "from what un 
 known bird have you plucked forth this feather?" 
 
 "Feather!" Droop exclaimed. "What feather?" 
 
 "Why this?" Bacon held up the pen and holder. 
 
 "That ain't a feather. It's a pen-holder an' a steel 
 174
 
 HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 pen, man. Say!" he exclaimed, leaning forward 
 suddenly. "Ye hain't ben drinkin', hev ye?" 
 
 To this Bacon only replied by a dignified stare and 
 turned in silence to the table. 
 
 "Which you agoin' to write first," said Droop, con 
 siderately dropping the question he had raised. 
 
 "The bill of sale." 
 
 "All right. I'd like to have ye put the one about 
 the patent real strong. I don't want to fail on the 
 fust try, you know." 
 
 Bacon made no reply, but dipped his pen and set 
 to work. In due time the two documents were in 
 dited and carefully signed. 
 
 "This letter is addressed to my uncle, Lord Bur- 
 leigh," said Bacon. "He is at the Palace at Green 
 wich, with the Queen." 
 
 "Shall I hev to take it to him myself?" 
 
 "Assuredly." 
 
 "Might hev trouble findin' him, I should think," 
 said Droop. 
 
 "Mayhap. On more thought, 'twere better you 
 had a guide. I know a worthy gentleman one of 
 the Queen's harbingers. Take you this letter to him, 
 for which purpose I will e'en leave it unsealed that 
 he may read it. He will conduct you to mine uncle, 
 for he hath free access to the court." 
 
 "What's his name?" 
 
 "Sir Percevall Hart. His is the demesne with the 
 high tower of burnt bricks, near the west end of 
 Tower Street. But stay! 'Twere better you did 
 
 1T5
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 seek him at the Boar's Head Tavern in East- 
 cheap." 
 
 "Sir Percevall Hart Boar's Head Eastcheap. 
 That's in London City, I s'pose." 
 
 "Yes yes," said Bacon, impatiently. "Any watch 
 man or passer-by will direct you. Now, sir, 'tis for 
 you to fulfil your promise." 
 
 "All right," said Droop. "It's my innin's so here 
 goes." 
 
 In a few minutes the two men had changed their 
 costumes and stood looking at each other with a very 
 evident disrelish of their respective situations. 
 
 Droop held his chin high in the air to avoid con 
 tact with the stiff ruff, while his companion turned 
 up the collar of his nineteenth-century coat and held 
 it together in front as though he feared taking cold. 
 
 "Why, Master Droop," said Bacon, glancing down 
 in surprise at his friend's nether extremities, "what 
 giveth that unwonted spiral look to your legs ? They 
 be ribbed as with grievous weals." 
 
 Droop tried to look down, but his wide ruff pre 
 vented him. So he put one foot on the table and, 
 bringing his leg to the horizontal, gazed dismally 
 down upon it. 
 
 "Gosh all hemlock them's my underdrawers!" he 
 exclaimed. "These here ding-busted long socks o' 
 yourn air so all-fired tight the blamed drawers hez 
 hiked up in ridges all round! Makes me look like 
 a bunch o' bananas in a bag!" he said, crossly. 
 
 "Well well a truce to trivial complaints," said 
 176
 
 HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 
 
 Bacon, hurriedly, fearful that Droop might with 
 draw his consent to the rescue. "Here are my cloak 
 and hat, friend; and now away, I pray you, and re 
 member ride to southward, that I may have a clear 
 field to London." 
 
 Droop donned the hat and cloak and gazed at him 
 self sorrowfully in the glass. 
 
 "Darned ef I don't look like a cross 'tween a Fili 
 pino and a crazy cowboy!" he muttered. 
 
 "And think you I have not suffered in the ex 
 change, Master Droop?" said Bacon, reproachfully. 
 "In very truth, I were not worse found had I shrunk 
 en one half within mine own doublet!" 
 
 After some further urging, Droop was induced to 
 descend the stairs, and soon the two men stood to 
 gether at the breach in the brick wall. They heard 
 the low whinnying of a horse close at hand. 
 
 "That is my steed," Bacon whispered. "You must 
 mount with instant speed and away with all haste 
 to the south, Master Droop." 
 
 "D'ye think I won't split these darned pants and 
 tight socks?" said Droop. 
 
 "Hush, friend, hush!" Bacon exclaimed. "The 
 bailiffs must not know we are here till they see you 
 mount and away. Nay nay fear not. The hose 
 and stockings will hold right securely, I warrant you." 
 
 "Well, so long!" said Droop, and the next moment 
 he was in the saddle. "G'lang there! Geet ap!" 
 he shouted, slapping the horse's neck with his bridle. 
 
 With a snort of surprise, the horse plunged for- 
 177
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 ward dashing across the moonlit field. A moment 
 later, Bacon saw two other horses leap forward in 
 pursuit from the dark cover of a neighboring grove. 
 "Good!" he exclaimed. "The lure hath taken!" 
 Then leaning over he rubbed his shins ruefully. 
 "How the night wind doth ascend within this bar 
 barous hose!" he grumbled. 
 
 178
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 While Copernicus Droop was acquiring fame and 
 fortune as a photographer, Rebecca and Phoebe were 
 leading a quiet life in the city. 
 
 Phoebe was perfectly happy. For her this was the 
 natural continuation of a visit which her father, 
 Isaac Burton, had very unwillingly permitted her 
 to pay to her dead mother's sister, Dame Goldsmith. 
 She was very fond of both her aunt and uncle, and 
 they petted and indulged her in every possible way. 
 
 Her chief source of happiness lay in the fact that 
 the Goldsmiths favored the suit of Sir Guy Fenton, 
 with whom she found herself deeply in love from the 
 moment when he had so opportunely arrived to res 
 cue the sisters from the rude horse-play of the South- 
 wark mob. 
 
 Poor Rebecca, on the other hand, found herself 
 in a most unpleasant predicament. She had shut 
 herself up in her room on the first day of her arrival 
 on discovering that her new hosts were ale drinkers, 
 and she had insisted upon perpetuating this imprison 
 ment when she had discovered that she would only 
 be accepted on the footing of a servant. 
 
 179
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Phoebe, who remembered Rebecca both as her 
 nineteenth-century sister and as her sixteenth-cen 
 tury nurse and tiring-woman, thought this determina 
 tion the best compromise under the circumstances, 
 and explained to her aunt that Rebecca was subject 
 to recurring fits of delusion, and that it was necessary 
 at such times to humor her in all things. 
 
 On the very day of the visit of Francis Bacon to 
 the Panchronicon, the two sisters were sitting to 
 gether in their bed-room. Rebecca was at her knit 
 ting by the window and Phoebe was rereading a letter 
 for the twentieth time, smiling now and then as she 
 read. 
 
 " 'Pears to amuse ye some," said Rebecca, dryly, 
 looking into her sister's rosy face. "How'd it come ? 
 I ain't seen the postman sence we've ben here. 
 Seems to me they ain't up to Keene here in London. 
 We hed a postman twice a day at Cousin Jane's 
 house." 
 
 "No, 'twas the flesher's lad brought it," said 
 Phoebe. 
 
 Rebecca grunted crossly. 
 
 "I wish the land sake ye'd say 'butcher' when ye 
 mean butcher, Phoebe," she said. 
 
 "Well, the butcher's boy, then, Miss Particular!" 
 said Phoebe, saucily. 
 
 Rebecca's face brightened. 
 
 "My! It does sound good to hear ye talk good 
 Yankee talk, Phoebe," she said. "Ye hevn't dropped 
 yer play-actin' lingo fer days and days." 
 
 180
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 "Oh, 'tis over hard to remember, sis!" said Phoebe, 
 carelessly. "But tell me, would it be unmaidenly, 
 think you, were I to grant Sir Guy a private meeting 
 without the house?" 
 
 "Which means would I think ye was wrong to 
 spark with that high-falutin man out o' doors, eh?" 
 
 "Yes say it so an thou wilt," said Phoebe, shyly. 
 
 "Why, ef you're goin' to keep comp'ny with him 
 'tall, I sh'd think ye'd go off with him by yerself. 
 Thet's the way sensible folks do at least, I b'lieve 
 so," she added, blushing. 
 
 "Aunt Martha hath given me free permission to 
 see Sir Guy when I will," Phoebe continued. "But 
 she hath been full circumspect, and ever keepeth 
 within ear-shot." 
 
 "Humph!" snapped Rebecca. "Y'ain't got any 
 Aunt Martha's fur's I know, but ef ye mean that 
 fat, beer-drinkin' woman downstairs, why, 'tain't any 
 of her concern, an' I'd tell her so, too." 
 
 Phoebe twirled her letter between her fingers and 
 gazed pensively smiling out of the window. There 
 was a long pause, which was finally broken by Re 
 becca. 
 
 "What's the letter 'bout, anyway?" she said. "Is 
 it from the guy?" 
 
 "You mean Sir Guy," said Phoebe, in injured tones. 
 
 "Oh, well, sir or ma'am! Did he write it?" 
 
 "Why, truth to tell," said Phoebe, slipping the note 
 into her bosom, " 'Tis but one of the letters I read 
 to thee from yon carved box, Rebecca." 
 
 181
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "My sakes that!" cried her sister. "How'd the 
 butcher's boy find it? You don't s'pose he stole it 
 out o' the Panchronicle, do ye?" 
 
 "Lord warrant us, sis, no! 'Twas writ this very 
 day. What o'clock is it?" 
 
 She ran to the window and looked down the street 
 toward the clock on the Royal Exchange. 
 
 "Three i' the afternoon/' she muttered. "The 
 time is short. Shall I? Shall I not?" 
 
 "Talkin' o' letters," said Rebecca, suddenly, "I 
 wish'd you take one down to the Post-Office fer me, 
 Phoebe." She rose and went to a drawer in the dress 
 ing-table. "Here's one 't I wrote to Cousin Jane in 
 Keene. I thought she might be worried about where 
 we'd got to, an' so I've written an' told her we're 
 in London." 
 
 "The Post-Office " Phoebe began, laughingly. 
 Then she checked herself. Why undeceive her 
 sister? Here was the excuse she had been 
 seeking. 
 
 "Yes; an' I told her more'n that," Rebecca con 
 tinued. "I told her that jest's soon as the Panchron 
 icle hed got rested and got its breath, we'd set off 
 quick fer home you an' me. Thet's so, ain't it, 
 Phoebe ?" she concluded, with plaintive anxiety in her 
 voice. 
 
 "I'll take the letter right along," said Phoebe, with 
 sudden determination. 
 
 But Rebecca would not at once relax her hold on 
 the envelope. 
 
 182
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 "That's so, ain't it, dearie?" she insisted. "Won't 
 we make fer home as soon's we can?" 
 
 "Sis," said Phoebe, gravely, "an I be not deeply 
 in error, thou art right. Now give me the letter." 
 
 Rebecca relinquished the paper with a sigh of re 
 lief, then looked up in surprise at Phoebe, who was 
 laughing aloud. 
 
 "Why, here's a five-cent stamp, as I live!" she 
 cried. "Where did it come from?" 
 
 "I hed it in my satchel," said Rebecca. "Ain't 
 that the right postage?" 
 
 "Yes yes," said Phoebe, still laughing. "And now 
 for the Post-Office!" 
 
 She donned her coif and high-crowned hat with 
 silver braid, and leaned over Rebecca, who had seat 
 ed herself, to give her a good-by kiss. 
 
 "Great sakes!" exclaimed Rebecca, as she received 
 the unaccustomed greeting. "You do look fer all 
 the world like one o' the Salem witches in Peter 
 Parley's history, Phoebe." 
 
 With a light foot and a lighter heart for all its 
 beating, Phoebe ran down the street unperceived 
 from the house. 
 
 "Bishopsgate!" she sang under her breath. "The 
 missive named Bishopsgate. He'll meet me within 
 the grove outside the city wall." 
 
 Her feet seemed to know the way, which was not 
 over long, and she arrived without mishap at the 
 gate. 
 
 Here she was amazed to see two elderly men, evi- 
 183
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 dently merchants, for they were dressed much like 
 her uncle the goldsmith, approach two gayly dressed 
 gentlemen and, stopping them on the street, proceed 
 to measure their swords and the width of their ex 
 travagant ruffs with two yardsticks. 
 
 The four were so preoccupied with this ceremony 
 that she slipped past them without attracting the 
 disagreeable attention she might otherwise have re 
 ceived. 
 
 As she passed, the beruffled gentlemen were laugh 
 ing, and she heard one of them say: 
 
 "God buy you, friends, our ruffs and bilbos have 
 had careful measurement, I warrant you." 
 
 "Right careful, in sooth," said one of those with 
 the yardsticks. "They come within a hair's breadth 
 of her Majesty's prohibition." 
 
 Phoebe had scant time for wonder at this, for she 
 saw in a grove not a hundred yards beyond the gate 
 the trappings of a horse, and near by what seemed 
 a human figure, motionless, under a tree. 
 
 Making a circuit before entering the grove, she 
 came up behind the waiting figure, far enough within 
 the grove to be quite invisible from the highway. 
 
 She hesitated for some time ere she felt certain 
 that it was indeed Sir Guy who stood before her. He 
 was dressed in the extreme of fashion, and she fan 
 cied that she could smell the perfumes he wore, as 
 they were borne on the soft breeze blowing toward 
 her. 
 
 His hair fell in curls on either side from beneath 
 184
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 a splendid murrey French, hat, the crown of which 
 was wound about with a gold cable, the brim being 
 heavy with gold twist and spangles. His flat soft 
 ruff, composed of many layers of lace, hung over a 
 thick blue satin doublet, slashed with rose-colored 
 taffeta and embroidered with pearls, the front of 
 which was brought to a point hanging over the front 
 of his hose in what was known as a peascod shape. 
 The tight French hose was also of blue satin, ver 
 tically slashed with rose. His riding-boots were of 
 soft brown Spanish leather and his stockings of pearl- 
 gray silk. A pearl-gray mantle lined with rose-col 
 ored taffeta was fastened at the neck, under the 
 ruff, and fell in elegant folds over his left arm, half 
 concealing the hand resting upon the richly jewelled 
 hilt of a sword whose scabbard was of black velvet. 
 
 "God ild us!" Phoebe exclaimed in low tones. 
 "What foppery have we here!" 
 
 Then, slipping behind a tree, she clapped her 
 hands. 
 
 Guy turned his head and gazed about in wonder, 
 for no one was visible. Phoebe puckered her lips 
 and whistled softly twice. Then, as her lover darted 
 forward in redoubled amazement, she stepped into 
 view, and smiled demurely upon him with hands 
 folded before her. 
 
 The young knight leaped forward, and, dropping 
 on one knee, carried her hand rapturously to his 
 lips. 
 
 "Now sink the orbed sun!" he exclaimed. "For 
 185
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 behold a fairer cometh, whose love-darting eyes do 
 slay the night, rendering bright day eternate!" 
 
 Smiling roguishly down into his face, Phoebe shook 
 her head and replied : 
 
 "You are full of pretty phrases. Have you not 
 been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned 
 them out of rings?" 
 
 For an instant the young man was disconcerted. 
 Then rising, he said: 
 
 "Nay, from the rings regardant of thine eyes I 
 learned my speech. What are golden rings to these?" 
 
 "Why, how much better is thy speech when it 
 ringeth true," said Phoebe. "Thy speech of greeting 
 was conned with much pains from the cold book of 
 prior calculation, and so I answered you from a poet's 
 play. I would you loved me!" 
 
 "Loved thee, oh, divine enchantress too cruel- 
 lovely captress of my dole-breathing heart!" 
 
 "Tut tut tut !" she broke in, stamping her foot. 
 "Thou dost it badly, Sir Guy. A truce to Euphuistic 
 word-coining and phrase-shifting! Wilt show thy 
 love in all sadness, say!" 
 
 "In any way or sad or gay!" 
 
 "Then prithee, good knight, stand on thy head by 
 yonder tree." 
 
 The cavalier stepped back and gazed into his lady's 
 face as though he thought her mad. 
 
 "Stand on my head!" he exclaimed, slowly. 
 
 Phoebe laughed merrily and clapped her hands. 
 
 "Good my persuasion!" she rippled. "See how 
 186
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 thou art shaken into thyself, man. What! No 
 phrase of lackadaisical rapture! Why, I looked to 
 see thee invert thine incorporate satin in an airy 
 rhapsody upheld and kept unruffled by some fan 
 tastical twist of thine imagination. Oh, Fancy 
 Fancy! Couldst not e'en sustain thy knight cap-a- 
 pie!" and she laughed the harder as she saw her 
 lover's face grow longer and longer. 
 
 "Why, mistress," he began, soberly, "these quips 
 and jests ill become a lover's tryst, methinks " 
 
 "As ill as paint and scent and ear-rings as foppish 
 attire and fantastical phrases do become an honest 
 lover," said Phoebe, indignantly. "Dost think that 
 Mary Burton prizes these weary labyrinthine sen 
 tences all hay and wool, like the monstrous swell 
 ing of trunk hose? Far better can I read in Master 
 Lilly's books. Thinkest thou I came hither to smell 
 civet? Nay I love better the honest odor of cab 
 bages in mine aunt's kitchen! And all this finery 
 this lace this satin and this pearl embroid 
 ery ' 
 
 "In God His name!" the knight broke in, stamping 
 his foot. "Dost take me for a little half-weaned 
 knave, that I'll learn how to dress me of a woman? 
 An you like not my speech, mistress " 
 
 Phoebe cut him short, putting her hand on his 
 mouth. 
 
 Then she leaned her shoulder against a tree, and 
 looking up saucily into his face: 
 
 "Now, don't get mad!" she said. 
 187
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Mad mad!" said Sir Guy, with a puzzled look. 
 "An this be madness, mistress, then is her Majesty's 
 whole court a madhouse." 
 
 "Well, young man," Phoebe replied, with her prim 
 New England manner, "if you want to marry me, 
 you'll have to come and live in a country where they 
 don't have queens, and you'll work in your shirt 
 sleeves like an honest man. You might just's well 
 understand that first as last." 
 
 The knight moved back a step, with an injured 
 expression on his face. 
 
 "Nay, then," he said, "an thou mock me with un 
 couth phrases, Mary, I'd best be going." 
 
 "Perhaps you'd better, Guy." 
 
 With a reproachful glance, but holding his head 
 proudly, the young man mounted his horse. 
 
 "He hath a noble air on horseback," Phoebe said 
 to herself, and she smiled. 
 
 The young man saw the smile and took courage. 
 
 He urged his horse forward to her side. 
 
 "Mary!" he exclaimed, tenderly. 
 
 "Fare thee well!" she replied, coolly, and turned 
 her back. 
 
 He bit his lip, clinched his hand, and without an 
 other word, struck fiercely with his spurs. With a 
 snort of pain, the horse bounded forward, and Phoebe 
 found herself alone in the grove. 
 
 She gazed wistfully after the horseman and 
 clasped her hands in silence for a few moments. 
 Then, at thought of the letter she knew he was soon 
 
 188
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 to write the letter she had often seen in the carved 
 box she smiled again and, patting her skirts, stepped 
 forth merrily from the edge of the grove. 
 
 "After all, 'twill teach the silly lad better man 
 ners!" she said. 
 
 Scarcely had she reached the highway again when 
 she heard a man's voice calling in hearty tones. 
 
 "Well met, Mistress Mary! I looked well to find 
 you near for I take it 'twas Sir Guy passed me a 
 minute gone, spurring as 'twere a shame to see." 
 
 She looked up and saw a stout, middle-aged coun 
 tryman on horseback, holding a folded paper in his 
 hand. 
 
 "Oh, 'tis thou, Gregory !" she said, coolly. "Mend 
 thy manners, man, and keep thy place." 
 
 The man grinned. 
 
 "For my place, Mistress Mary," he said, "I doubt 
 you know not where your place be." 
 
 She looked up with a frown of angry surprise. 
 
 "Up here behind me on young Bess," he grinned. 
 "See, here's your father's letter, mistress." 
 
 She took the paper with one hand while with the 
 other she patted the soft nose of the mare, who was 
 bending her head around to find her mistress. 
 
 "Good Bess good old mare!" she said, gently, 
 gazing pensively at the letter. 
 
 How well she knew every wrinkle in that paper, 
 every curve in the clumsy superscription. Full well 
 she knew its contents, too ; for had she not read this 
 very note to Copernicus Droop at the North Pole? 
 
 189
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 However, partly that he might not be set to asking 
 questions, partly in curiosity, she unfolded the paper. 
 
 "DEAK POLL" it began "I'm starting behind the 
 grays for London on my way to be knighted by her 
 Majesty. I send this ahead by Gregory on Bess, she 
 being fast enow for my purpose, which is to get thee 
 out of the clutches of that ungodly aunt of thine. I 
 know her tricks, and I learn how she hath suffered 
 that damned milk-and-water popinjay to come court 
 ing my Poll. So see you follow Gregory, mistress, 
 and without wait or parley come with him to the 
 Peacock Inn, where I lie to-night. 
 
 "The grays are in fine fettle, and thy black mare 
 grows too fat for want of exercise. Thy mother-in- 
 law commands thy instant return with Gregory, hav 
 ing much business forward with preparing gowns 
 and fal lals against our presentation to her Majesty. 
 Thy father, Isaac Burton, of Burton Hall. 
 
 "Thy mother thinks thou wilt make better speed 
 if I make thee to know that the players thou wottest 
 of are to stop at the Peacock Inn and will be giving 
 some sport there." 
 
 "The players!" she exclaimed, eagerly. "Be these 
 the Lord Chamberlain's men?" she asked. "Is there 
 not among them one Will Shakespeare, Gregory? 
 What play give they to-night?" 
 
 "All one to me, mistress," said Gregory, slowly 
 dismounting. "There be players at the Peacock, for 
 
 190
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 the kitchen wench told me of them as I stopped there 
 for a pint; but be they the Lord Chamberlain's or 
 the Queen's, I cannot tell." 
 
 "Do they play at the Shoreditch Theatre or at the 
 inn, good Gregory?" 
 
 "I' faith I know not, mistress," he replied, bracing 
 his brawny right hand, palm up, at his knee. 
 
 Mechanically she put one foot into his palm and 
 sprang lightly upon the pillion behind the groom's 
 saddle. 
 
 As they turned and started at a jog trot northward, 
 she remembered her sister and her new-found aunt. 
 
 "Hold hold, Gregory!" she cried. "What of Re 
 becca? What of my aunt my gowns?" 
 
 "I am to send an ostler from the Peacock for your 
 nurse and clothing, mistress," said Gregory. "My 
 orders was not to wait for aught, but bring you back 
 instant quickly wheresoever I found you." After a 
 pause he went on with a grin: "I doubt I came late, 
 hows'ever. Sir Guy hath had his say, I'm thinkin' !" 
 and he chuckled audibly. 
 
 "Now you mind your own business, Gregory!" said 
 Phoebe, sharply. 
 
 His face fell, and during the rest of their ride he 
 maintained a rigid silence. 
 
 The next morning found Phoebe sitting in her 
 room in the Peacock Inn, silently meditating in an 
 effort to establish order in the chaos of her mind. 
 Her hands lay passively in her lap, and between her 
 
 191
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 fingers was an open sheet of paper whose crisp folds 
 showed it to be a letter. 
 
 Daily contact with the people, customs, dress, and 
 tongue of Elizabethan England was fast giving to 
 her memories of the nineteenth century the dim 
 seeming of a dream. As she came successively into 
 contact with each new-old acquaintance, he took his 
 place in her heart and mind full grown completely 
 equipped with all the associations, loves, and antip 
 athies of long familiarity. 
 
 Gregory had brought her to the inn the night be 
 fore, and here she had received the boisterous wel 
 come of old Isaac Burton and the cooler greeting of 
 his dame, her step-mother. They took their places 
 in her heart, and she was not surprised to find it by 
 no means a high one. The old lady was overbearing 
 and far from loving toward Mistress Mary, as Phoebe 
 began to call herself. As for Isaac Burton, he 
 seemed quite subject to his wife's will, and Phoebe 
 found herself greatly estranged from him. 
 
 That first afternoon, however, had transported her 
 into a paradise the joys of which even Dame Burton 
 could not spoil. 
 
 Sitting in one of the exterior galleries overlook 
 ing the courtyard of the inn, Phoebe had witnessed 
 a play given on a rough staging erected in the 
 open air. 
 
 The play was "The Merchant of Venice," and who 
 can tell the thrills that tingled through Phoebe's 
 frame as, with dry lips and a beating heart, she gazed 
 
 192
 
 PHGEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 down upon Shylock. Behind that great false beard 
 was the face of England's mightiest poet. That wig 
 concealed the noble forehead so revered by high and 
 low in the home she had left behind. 
 
 She was Phoebe Wise, and only Phoebe, that after 
 noon, enjoying to the full the privilege which chance 
 had thrown in her way. And now, the morning 
 after, she went over it all again in memory. She 
 rehearsed mentally every gesture and intonation of 
 the poet-actor, upon whom alone she had riveted her 
 attention throughout the play, following him in 
 thought, even when he was not on the stage. 
 
 Sitting there in her room, she smiled as she re 
 membered with what a start of surprise she had rec 
 ognized one among the groundlings in front of the 
 stage after the performance. It was Sir Guy, very 
 plainly dressed and gazing fixedly upon her. Doubt 
 less he had been there during the entire play, waiting 
 in vain for one sign of recognition. But Shylock had 
 held her spellbound, and even for her lover she had 
 been blind. 
 
 She felt a little touch of pity and compunction as 
 she remembered these things, and suddenly she lifted 
 to her lips the letter she was holding. 
 
 "Poor boy!" she murmured. Then, shaking her 
 head with a smile: "I wonder how his letter found 
 my room!" she said. 
 
 She rose, and, going to the window where the light 
 was stronger, flattened out the missive and read it 
 again : 
 
 193
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "My DEAR, DEAR MARY dear to me ever, e'en in 
 thy displeasure have I fallen, then, so low in thy 
 sight! May I not be forgiven, sweet girl, or shall 
 I ever stand as I have this day, gazing upward in 
 vain for the dear glance my fault hath forfeited? 
 
 "In sober truth, dear heart, I hate myself for what 
 I was. What a sad mummery of lisping nothings 
 was my speech and what a vanity was my attire! 
 Thou wast right, Mary, but oh ! with what a ruthless 
 hand didst thou tear the veil from mine eyes! I 
 have seen my fault and will amend it, but oh! tell 
 me it was thy love and not thine anger that hath 
 prompted thee. And yet why didst thou avert 
 thine eyes from me this even? Sweet speak but 
 a word write but a line give some assurance, dear, 
 of pardon to him who is forever thine in the bonds 
 of love." 
 
 She folded the letter slowly and slipped it into 
 the bosom of her dress with a smile on her lips and 
 a far-away look in her eyes. She had known this 
 letter almost by heart before she received it. Had 
 it not been one of her New England collection? 
 Foreknowledge of it had emboldened her to rebuke 
 her lover when she met him by the Bishopsgate 
 and yet it had been a surprise and a sweet novelty 
 to her when she had found it on her dressing-table 
 the night before. 
 
 At length she turned slowly from the window and 
 said softly: 
 
 194
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 "Guy's a good fellow, and I'm a lucky girl!" 
 
 There was a quick thumping of heavy feet on the 
 landing, and a moment later a young country girl 
 entered. It was Betty, one of the serving girls 
 whom Dame Burton had brought with her to Lon 
 don. 
 
 The lass dropped a clumsy courtesy, and said: 
 
 "Mistress bade me tell ye, Miss Mary, she would 
 fain have ye wait on her at once. She's in the inn 
 parlor." Then, after a pause: "Sure she hath matter 
 of moment for ye, I warrant, or she'd not look so 
 solemn satisfied." 
 
 Phoebe was strongly tempted to decline this per 
 emptory invitation, but curiosity threw its weight 
 into the balance with complaisance, and with a dig 
 nified lift of the chin she turned to the door. 
 
 "Show the way, Betty," she said. 
 
 Through several long corridors full of perplexing 
 turns and varied by many a little flight of steps, the 
 two young women made their way to the principal 
 parlor of the inn, where they found Mistress Burton 
 standing expectantly before a slow log fire. 
 
 Phoebe's worthy step-mother was a dame of middle 
 age, ruddy, black-haired, and stout. Her loud voice 
 and sudden movements betrayed a great fund of a 
 certain coarse energy, and, as her step-daughter now 
 entered the parlor, she was fanning her flushed face 
 with an open letter. Her expression was one of tri 
 umph only half-concealed by ill-assumed commisera 
 tion. 
 
 195
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Aha, lass!" she cried, as she caught sight of 
 Phoebe, "art here, then? Here are news in sooth 
 news for " She broke off and turned sharply upon 
 Betty, who stood by the door with mouth and ears 
 wide open. 
 
 "Leave the room, Betty!" she exclaimed. "Am I 
 to have every lazy jade in London prying and eaves 
 dropping? Trot look alive!" 
 
 She strode toward the reluctant maid and, with a 
 good-natured push, hastened her exit. Then, closing 
 the door, she turned again toward Phoebe, who had 
 seated herself by the fire. 
 
 "Well, Polly," she resumed, "art still bent on thy 
 foppish lover, lass? Not mended since yesternight 
 -what?" 
 
 A cool slow inclination of Phoebe's head was the 
 sole response. 
 
 "Out and alas!" the dame continued, tossing her 
 head with mingled pique and triumph. " 'Tis a sad 
 day for thee and thine, then ! This Sir Guy of thine 
 is as good as dead, girl! Thy popinjay is a traitor, 
 and his crimes have found him out!" 
 
 "A traitor!" 
 
 Phoebe stood erect with one hand on her heart. 
 
 Dame Burton repressed a smile and continued with 
 a slow shake of the head: 
 
 "Ay, girl; a traitor to her blessed Majesty the 
 Queen. His brother hath been discovered in traitor 
 ous correspondence with the rebel O'Neill, and is on 
 his way to the Tower. Sir Guy's arrest hath been 
 
 196
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 ordered, and the two brothers will lose their heads 
 together." 
 
 Very pale, Phoebe stood with hands tight clasped 
 before her. 
 
 "Where have you learned this, mother?" she said. 
 
 "Where but here!" the dame replied, shaking the 
 open sheet she held in her hand. "Thy Cousin Percy, 
 secretary to my good Lord Burleigh, he hath de 
 spatched me this writing here, which good Master 
 Portman did read to me but now." 
 
 "Let me see it." 
 
 As Phoebe read the confirmation of her step 
 mother's ill news, she tried to persuade herself that 
 it was but the fabrication of a jealous rival, for this 
 Percy was also an aspirant to her hand. But it 
 proved too circumstantial to admit of this construc 
 tion, and her first fears were confirmed. 
 
 "Ye see," said Dame Burton, as she received the 
 note again, "the provost guard is on the lad's track, 
 and with a warrant. I told thee thy wilful ways 
 would lead but to sorrow, Poll!" 
 
 Phoebe heard only the first sentence of this speech. 
 Her mind was possessed by one idea. She must warn 
 her lover. Mechanically she turned away, forgetful 
 of her companion, and passing through the door with 
 ever quicker steps, left her step-mother gazing after 
 her in speechless indignation. 
 
 Phoebe's movements were of necessity aimless at 
 first. Ignorant of Sir Guy's present abiding-place, 
 knowing of no one who could reach him, she wan- 
 
 197
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 dered blindly forward, up one hall and down another 
 without a distinct immediate plan and mentally par 
 alyzed with dread. 
 
 The sick pain of fear the longing to reach her 
 lover's side these were the first disturbers of her 
 peace since her return into this strange yet familiar 
 life of the past. Now for the first time she was learn 
 ing how vital was the hold of a sincere and deep love. 
 The thought of harm to him the fear of losing him 
 these swept her being clear of all small coquetries 
 and maiden wiles, leaving room only for the strong, 
 true, sensitive love of an anxious woman. Over and 
 over again she whispered as she walked: 
 
 "Oh, Guy Guy! Where shall I find you? What 
 shall I do!" 
 
 She had wandered long through the mazes of the 
 quaint old caravansary ere she found an exit. At 
 length she turned a sharp corner and found herself 
 at the top of a short flight of steps leading to a door 
 which opened upon the main outer court. At that 
 moment a new thought leaped into her mind and 
 she stopped abruptly, a rush of warm color mantling 
 on her cheeks. 
 
 Then, with a sigh of content, she sank down upon 
 the top step of the flight she had reached and gently 
 shook her head, smiling. 
 
 "Too much Mary Burton, Miss Phoebe!" she mur 
 mured. 
 
 She had recollected her precious box of letters. 
 Of these there was one which made it entirely clear 
 
 198
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 that Mary Burton and her lover were destined to 
 escape this peril; for it was written from him to her 
 after their flight from England. All her fears fell 
 away, and she was left free to taste the sweetness 
 of the new revelation without the bitterness in which 
 that revelation had had its source. 
 
 Very dear to Phcebe in after life was the memory 
 of the few moments which followed. With her mind 
 free from every apprehension, she leaned her shoul 
 der to the wall and turned her inward sight in 
 charmed contemplation upon the new treasure her 
 heart had found. 
 
 How small, how trifling appeared what she had 
 until then called her love! Her new-found depth 
 and height of tender devotion even frightened her 
 a little, and she forced a little laugh to avert the 
 tears. 
 
 Through the open door her eyes registered in 
 memory the casual movements without, while her 
 consciousness was occupied only with her soul's ex 
 perience. But soon this period of blissful inaction 
 was sharply terminated. Her still watching eyes 
 brought her a message so incongruous with her im 
 mediate surroundings as to shake her out of her 
 waking dream. She became suddenly conscious of 
 a nineteenth-century intruder amid her almost me 
 dieval surroundings. 
 
 All attention now, she sat quickly upright and 
 looked out again. Yes there could be no mistake 
 Copernicus Droop had passed the door and was 
 
 199
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 approaching the principal entrance of the inn on the 
 other side of the courtyard. 
 
 Phcebe ran quickly to the door and, protecting her 
 eyes with one hand from the flood of brilliant sun 
 light, she called eagerly after the retreating figure. 
 
 "Mr. Droop Mr. Droop!" 
 
 The figure turned just as Phoebe became conscious 
 of a small crowd of street loafers who had thronged 
 curiously about the courtyard entrance, staring at 
 the new-comer's outlandish garb. She saw the grin 
 ning faces turn toward her at sound of her voice, and 
 she shrank back into the hallway to evade their gaze. 
 
 The man to whom she had called re-crossed the 
 courtyard with eager steps. There was something 
 strange in his gait and carriage, but the strong sun 
 light behind him made his image indistinct, and be 
 sides, Phosbe was accustomed to eccentricities on the 
 part of this somewhat disreputable acquaintance. 
 
 Her astonishment was therefore complete when, 
 on removing his hat as he entered the hallway, this 
 man in New England attire proved to be a complete 
 stranger. 
 
 Evidently the gentleman had suffered much from 
 the rudeness of his unwelcome followers, for his face 
 was flushed and his manner constrained and nervous. 
 Bowing slightly, he stood erect just within the door. 
 
 "Did you do me the honor of a summons, mis 
 tress?" said he. 
 
 The look of amazement on Pho3be's face made 
 him bite his lips with increase of annoyance, for he 
 
 200
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 saw in her emotion only renewed evidence of the 
 ridicule to which he had subjected himself. 
 
 "I I crave pardon !" Phoebe stammered. "I fear 
 I took you for another, sir." 
 
 "For one Copernicus Droop, an I mistake not!" 
 
 "Do you know him?" she faltered in amazement. 
 
 "I have met him to my sorrow, mistress. "Tis 
 the first time and the last, I vow, that Francis Bacon 
 hath dealt with mountebanks !" 
 
 "Francis Bacon!" cried Phoebe, delight and curi 
 osity now added to puzzled amazement. "Is it possi 
 ble that I see before me Sir Francis Bacon or rather 
 Lord Yerulam, I believe." She dropped a courtesy, 
 to which he returned a grave bow. 
 
 "Nay, good mistress," he replied. "Neither knight 
 nor lord am I, but only plain Francis Bacon, barris 
 ter, and Secretary of the Star Chamber." 
 
 "Oh!" Phoebe exclaimed, "not yet, I see." 
 
 Then, as a look of grave inquiry settled over Ba 
 con's features, she continued eagerly: "Enough of 
 your additions, good Master Bacon. 'Twere better 
 I offered my congratulations, sir, than prated of these 
 lesser matters." 
 
 "Congratulations! Good lady, you speak in rid 
 dles!" 
 
 Smiling, she shook her head at him, looking mean 
 ingly into his eyes. 
 
 "Oh, think not all are ignorant of what you have 
 so ably hidden, Master Bacon," she said. "Can it 
 be that the author of that wondrous play I saw here 
 
 201
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 given but yesternight can be content to hide his name 
 behind that of a too greatly favored player?" 
 
 "Play, mistress!" Bacon exclaimed. "Why, here 
 be more soothsaying manners from a fairer speaker 
 but still as dark as the uncouth ravings of that 
 fellow that that Droop." 
 
 "Nay nay!" Phoebe insisted. "You need fear no 
 tattling, sir. I will keep your secret though in 
 very truth, were I in your worship's place, 'twould 
 go hard but the whole world should know my 
 glory!" 
 
 "Secret glory!" Bacon exclaimed. "In all con 
 science, mistress, I beg you will make more clear 
 the matter in question. Of what play speak you? 
 Wherein doth it concern Francis Bacon?" 
 
 "To speak plainly, then, sir, I saw your play of 
 the vengeful Jew and good Master Antonio. What ! 
 Have I struck home!" 
 
 She leaned against the wall with her hands behind 
 her and looked up at him triumphantly. To her con 
 fusion, no answering gleam illumined the young 
 man's darkling eyes. 
 
 "Struck home!" he exclaimed, shaking his head 
 querulously. "Perhaps but where? Do you per 
 chance make a mock of me, Mistress Mistress ?" 
 
 She replied to the inquiry in his manner and tone 
 with disappointment in her voice: 
 
 "Mistress Mary Burton, sir, at your service." 
 
 Bacon started back a step and a new and eager 
 light leaped into his eyes. 
 
 202
 
 PHCEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 "The daughter of Isaac Burton?" he cried, "soon 
 to be Sir Isaac?" 
 
 "The same, sir. Do you know my father?" 
 
 "Ay, indeed. 'Twas to seek him I came hither." 
 
 Then, starting forward, Bacon poured forth in 
 eager accents a full account of his meeting with 
 Droop in the deserted grove of how they two had 
 conspired to evade the bailiffs, and of his reasons for 
 borrowing Droop's clothing. 
 
 "Conceive, then, my plight, dear lady," he con 
 cluded, "when, on reaching London, I found that the 
 few coins which remained to me had been left in the 
 clothes which I gave to this Droop, and I have come 
 hither to implore the temporary aid of your good 
 father." 
 
 "But he hath gone into London, Master Bacon," 
 said Phoebe. "It is most like he will not return ere 
 to-morrow even." 
 
 Droop's hat dropped from Bacon's relaxed grasp 
 and he seemed to wilt in his speechless despair. 
 
 Phoebe's sympathy was awakened at once, but her 
 anxiety to know more of the all-important question 
 of authorship was perhaps the keenest of her emo 
 tions. 
 
 "Why," she exclaimed, " 'tis a little matter that 
 needs not my father, methinks. If ten pounds will 
 serve you, I should deem it an honor to provide 
 them." 
 
 Kevived by hope, he drew himself up briskly as 
 he replied: 
 
 203
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Why, 'twill do marvellous well, Mistress Mary 
 marvellous well nor shall repayment be delayed, 
 upon my honor!" 
 
 "Nay, call it a fee," she replied, "and give me, I 
 beg of you, a legal opinion in return." 
 
 Bacon stooped to pick up the hat, from which he 
 brushed the dust with his hand as he replied, with 
 dubious slowness, looking down: 
 
 "Why, in sooth, mistress, I am used to gain a 
 greater honorarium. As a barrister of repute, mine 
 opinions in writing " 
 
 "Ah, then, I fear my means are too small!" Phoebe 
 broke in, with a smile. " "Pis a pity, too, for the 
 matter is simple, I verily believe." 
 
 Bacon saw that he must retract or lose all, and he 
 went on with some haste : 
 
 "Perchance 'tis not an opinion in writing that is 
 required," he said. 
 
 "Nay nay; your spoken word will suffice, Master 
 Bacon." 
 
 "In that case, then " 
 
 She drew ten gold pieces from her purse and 
 dropped them into his extended palm. Then, seat 
 ing herself upon a bench against the wall hard by, 
 she said: 
 
 "The case is this: If a certain merchant borrow 
 a large sum from a Jew in expectation of the speedy 
 arrival of a certain argosy of great treasure, and if 
 the merchant give his bond for the sum, the penalty 
 of the bond being one pound of flesh from the body 
 
 204
 
 PH(EBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 of the merchant, and if then the argosies founder 
 and the bond be forfeit, may the Jew recover the 
 pound of flesh and cut it from the body of the mer 
 chant?" 
 
 As she concluded, Phoebe leaned forward and 
 watched her companion's face earnestly, hoping that 
 he would betray his hidden interest in this Shake 
 spearian problem by some look or sign. 
 
 The face into which she gazed was grave and judi 
 cial and the reply was a ready one. 
 
 "Assuredly not! Such a bond were contrary to 
 public policy and void ab initio. The case is not one 
 for hesitancy; 'tis clear and certain. No court in 
 Christendom would for a moment lend audience to 
 the Jew. Why, to uphold the bond were to license 
 murder. True, the victim hath to this consented; 
 but 'tis doctrine full well proven and determined, 
 that no man can give valid consent to his own mur 
 der. Were this otherwise, suicide were clearly law 
 ful." 
 
 "Oh!" Phoebe exclaimed, as this new view of the 
 subject was presented to her. "Then the Duke of 
 Venice " 
 
 She broke off and hurried into new questioning. 
 
 "Another opinion hath been given me," she said. 
 " 'Twas urged that the Jew could have his pound of 
 flesh, for so said the bond, but that he might shed 
 no blood in the cutting, blood not being men 
 tioned in the bond, and that his goods were for 
 feit did he cut more or less than a pound, by so 
 
 205
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 much as the weight of a hair. Think you this be 
 law?" 
 
 Still could she see no shadow in Bacon's face be 
 traying consciousness that there was more in her 
 words than met the ear. 
 
 "No no!" he replied, somewhat contemptuously. 
 "If that A make promise of a chose tangible to B 
 and the promise fall due, B may have not only that 
 which was promised, but all such matters and things 
 accessory as must, by the very nature of the agreed 
 transfer, be attached to the thing promised. As, if 
 I sell a calf, I may not object to his removal because, 
 forsooth, some portion of earth from my land cling- 
 eth to his hoofs. So blood is included in the word 
 'flesh' where 'twere impossible to deliver the flesh 
 without some blood. As for that quibble of nor 
 more nor less, why, 'tis the debtor's place to deliver 
 his promise. If he himself cut off too much, he in 
 jures himself, if too little he hath not made good 
 his covenant." 
 
 Complete conviction seemed to spring upon 
 Phoebe, as though it had been something visible to 
 startle her. It shook off her old English self for a 
 moment, and she leaped to her feet, exclaiming: 
 
 "Well, there now ! That settles that ! I guess if 
 anybody wrote Shakespeare, it wasn't Bacon!" 
 
 The astonishment almost alarm in her com 
 panion's face filled her with amusement, and her 
 happy laugh rang through the echoing halls. 
 
 "Many, many gracious thanks, good Master 
 206
 
 PH(EBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 
 
 Bacon!" she exclaimed. "Right well have you earned 
 your honorarium. And now, ere you depart, may 
 I make bold to urge one last request?" 
 
 With a bow the young man expressed his acqui 
 escence. 
 
 "If I mistake not, you will return forthwith to 
 Master Droop, to the end that you may regain your 
 proper garb, will you not?" 
 
 "That is my intention." 
 
 "Then I pray you, good Master Bacon, deliver 
 this message to Master Droop from one Phoebe Wise, 
 an acquaintance of his whom I know well. Tell him 
 he must have all in readiness for flight and must not 
 leave his abode until she come. May I rely on your 
 faithful repetition of this to him?" 
 
 "Assuredly. I shall forget no word of the message 
 wherewith I am so honored." 
 
 "Tell him that it is a matter of life and death, sir 
 of life and death!" 
 
 She held out her hand. Bacon pressed his lips to 
 the dainty fingers and then, jamming the hard Derby 
 hat as far down over his long locks as possible, he 
 stepped forth once more into the courtyard. 
 
 20T
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 HOW THE QUEEN BEAD HER NEWSPAPEB 
 
 For Rebecca, left alone in the goldsmiths' city 
 house, the past night and day had been a period of 
 perplexity. She had been saved from any serious 
 anxiety by the arrival of a messenger soon after 
 Phoebe's departure, who had brought her word that 
 her "mistress" was safe in the Peacock Inn, and had 
 left a verbal message commanding her to come with 
 him at once to rejoin her. 
 
 This command she naturally refused to comply 
 with, and sent word to the much-puzzled man-servant 
 that she wasn't to be "bossed around" by her young 
 er sister, and that if Phoebe wanted to see her she 
 knew where to find her. This message was deliv 
 ered to old Mistress Burton, who refrained from 
 repeating it to her step-daughter. For her own 
 ends, she thought it best to keep Mistress Mary 
 from her nurse, whose influence seemed invariably 
 opposed to her own. 
 
 Left thus alone, Rebecca had had a hitherto un 
 equalled opportunity for reflection, and the result 
 of her deliberations was most practical. Whatever 
 might be said of the inhabitants of London in gen- 
 
 208
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 eral, it was clear to her mind that poor Phoebe was 
 mentally unbalanced. 
 
 The only remedy was to lure her into the Pan- 
 chronicon, and regain the distant home they ought 
 never to have left. 
 
 The first step to be taken was therefore to rejoin 
 Copernicus and see that all was in readiness. It was 
 her intention then to seek her sister and, by humor 
 ing her delusion and exercising an appropriately be 
 nevolent cunning, to induce her to enter the convey 
 ance which had brought them both into this disas 
 trous complication. The latter part of this pro 
 gramme was not definitely formed in her mind, and 
 when she sought to give it shape she found herself 
 appalled both by its difficulties and by the probable 
 twists that her conscience would have to undergo in 
 putting her plan into practice. 
 
 "Well, well!" she exclaimed at length. "I'll cross 
 that bridge when I come to it. The fust thing is 
 to find Copernicus Droop." 
 
 It was at about eleven o'clock in the morning of 
 the day after Phoebe's departure that Rebecca came 
 to this audible conclusion, and she arose at once to 
 don her jacket and bonnet. This accomplished, she 
 gathered up her precious satchel and umbrella and 
 approached her bed-room window to observe the 
 weather. 
 
 She had scarcely fixed her eyes upon the muddy 
 streets below her when she uttered a cry of amaze 
 ment. 
 
 209
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Good gracious alive! Ef there ain't Copernicus 
 right this minute!" 
 
 Out through the inner hall and down the stairs 
 she hurried with short, shuffling steps, impatient of 
 the clinging rushes on the floor. Speechless she ran 
 past good Mistress Goldsmith, who called after her 
 in vain. The only reply was the slam of the front 
 door. 
 
 Once in the street, Rebecca glanced sharply up and 
 down. The man she sought was not in sight, but 
 she shrewdly counted upon his having turned into 
 Leadenhall Street, toward which she had seen him 
 walking. Thither she hurried, and to her infinite 
 gratification she saw, about a hundred yards ahead, 
 the unmistakable trousers, coat, and Derby hat so 
 familiar on the person of Copernicus Droop. 
 
 "Hey!" she cried. "Hey, there, Mister Droop! 
 Copernicus Droop!" 
 
 She ended with a shrill, far-carrying, long-drawn 
 call that sounded much like a "whoop." Evidently 
 he heard her, for he started, looked over his shoul 
 der, and then set off with redoubled speed, as though 
 anxious to avoid her. 
 
 She stopped short for a moment, paralyzed with 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Well!" she exclaimed. "If I ever! I suppose 
 it's a case of 'the wicked flee,' but he can't get away 
 from me as easy 's that." 
 
 And then began a race the like of which was never 
 seen before. In advance, Francis Bacon scurried 
 
 210
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 forward as fast as he dared without running, dread 
 ing the added publicity his rapid progress was sure 
 to bring upon him, yet dreading even more to be 
 overtaken by this amazing female apparition, in 
 whose accents and intonation he recognized another 
 of the Droop species. 
 
 Behind Bacon came Rebecca, conspicuous enough 
 in her prim New England gown and bonneted head, 
 but doubly remarkable as she skipped from stone to 
 stone to avoid the mud and filth of the unpaved 
 streets, and swinging in one hand her little black 
 satchel and in the other her faithful umbrella. 
 
 From time to time she called aloud: "Hey, stop 
 there! Copernicus Droop! Stop, I say! It's only 
 Rebecca Wise!" 
 
 The race would have been a short one, indeed, 
 had she not found it impossible to ignore the puddles, 
 rubbish heaps, and other obstacles which half-filled 
 the streets and obstructed her path at every turn. 
 Bacon, who was accustomed to these conditions 
 and had no impeding skirts to check him, managed, 
 therefore, to hold his own without actually run 
 ning. 
 
 These two were not long left to themselves. Such 
 a progress could not take place in the heart of Eng 
 land's capital without forming in its train an ever 
 growing suite of the idle and curious. Ere long a 
 rabble of street-walkers, beggars, pick-pockets, and 
 loafers were stamping behind Rebecca, repeating her 
 shrill appeals with coarse variations, and assailing her 
 
 211
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 with jokes which, fortunately for her, were worded 
 in terms which her New England ears could not com 
 prehend. 
 
 In this order the two strangely clad beings hur 
 ried down toward the Thames; he in the hope of 
 finding a waterman who should carry him beyond 
 the reach of his dreaded persecutors; she counting 
 upon the river, which she knew to lie somewhere 
 ahead, to check the supposed Copernicus in his obsti 
 nate flight. 
 
 To the right they turned, through St. Clement's 
 Lane into Crooked Lane, and the ever-growing mob 
 clattered noisily after them, shouting and laughing 
 a gleeful chorus to her occasional solo. 
 
 Leaving Eastcheap and its grimy tenements, they 
 emerged from New Fish Street and saw the gleam 
 of the river ahead of them. 
 
 At this moment one of the following crowd, more 
 enterprising than his fellows, ran close up behind 
 Rebecca and, clutching the edge of her jacket, sought 
 to restrain her. 
 
 "Toll, lass, toll!" he shouted. "Who gave thee 
 leave to run races in London streets?" 
 
 Rebecca became suddenly fully conscious for the 
 first time of the sensation she had created. Stop 
 ping short, she swung herself free and looked her 
 bold assailant fairly in the face. 
 
 "Well, young feller," she said, with icy dignity, 
 "what can I do fer you?" 
 
 The loafer fell back as she turned, and when she 
 212
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 had spoken, he turned in mock alarm and fled, crying 
 as he ran: 
 
 "Save us save us! Ugly and old as a witch, I 
 trow!" 
 
 Those in the background caught his final words 
 and set up a new cry which boded Rebecca no good. 
 
 "A witch a witch! Seize her! Stone her!" 
 
 As they now hung back momentarily in a new 
 dread, self-created in their superstitious minds, Re 
 becca turned again to the chase, but was sorely put 
 out to find that her pause had given the supposed 
 Droop the advantage of a considerable gain. He 
 was now not far from the river side. Hoping he 
 could go no farther, she set off once more in pursuit, 
 observing silence in order to save her breath. 
 
 She would apparently have need of it to save her 
 self, for the stragglers in her wake were now impelled 
 by a more dangerous motive than mere curiosity or 
 mischief. The cry of "Witch" had awakened cruel 
 depths in their breasts, and they pressed forward in 
 close ranks with less noise and greater menace than 
 before. 
 
 Two or three rough fellows paused to kick stones 
 loose from the clay of the streets, and in a few mo 
 ments the all-unconscious Rebecca would have found 
 herself in a really terrible predicament but for an 
 accident seemingly without bearing upon her circum 
 stances. 
 
 Without warning, someone in the upper story of 
 one of the houses near by threw from a window a 
 
 213
 
 pail of dirty water, which fell with a startling splash 
 a few feet in front of Rebecca. 
 
 She stopped in alarm and looked up severely. 
 
 "I declare to goodness! I b'lieve the folks in this 
 town are all plumb crazy! Sech doin's! The idea 
 of throwin' slops out onto the road ! Why, the Ka- 
 nucks wouldn't do that in New Hampshire!" 
 
 Slipping her bag onto her left wrist, she loosened 
 the band of her umbrella and shook the ribs free. 
 
 "Lucky I brought my umbrella!" she exclaimed. 
 "I guess it'll be safer fer me to h'ist this, ef things is 
 goin' to come out o' windows!" 
 
 All unknown to her, two or three of the rabble 
 behind her were in the act of poising themselves with 
 great stones in their hands, and their muscles were 
 stiffening for a cast when, just in the nick of time, 
 the obstinate snap yielded, and with a jerk the um 
 brella spread itself. 
 
 Turning the wide-spread gloria skyward, Rebecca 
 hurried forward once more, still bent upon overtak 
 ing Copernicus Droop. 
 
 That simple act saved her. 
 
 A mere inactive witch was one thing a thing 
 scarce distinguishable from any other old woman. 
 But this transformation of a black wand into a wide- 
 spreading tent was so obviously the result of magic, 
 that it was self-evident they had to do with a witch 
 in full defensive and offensive state. 
 
 Stones fell from deadened hands and the threaten 
 ing growls and cries were lost in a unanimous gasp 
 
 214
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 of alarm. A moment's pause and then utter rout. 
 There was a mad stampede and in a trice the street 
 was empty. Rebecca was alone under that inoffen 
 sive guardian umbrella. 
 
 To her grief, she found no one on the river's brim. 
 He whom she sought was half-way across, his con 
 veyance the only wherry in sight, apparently. Hav 
 ing passed beyond the houses, Rebecca now folded 
 her umbrella and looked carefully about her. To 
 her great relief, she caught sight of a man's figure 
 recumbent on a stone bench near at hand. A pair 
 of oars lay by him and betrayed his vocation. 
 
 She stepped promptly to his side and prodded him 
 with her umbrella. 
 
 "Here, mister!" she cried. "Wake up, please. 
 What do you charge for ferryin' folks across the 
 river?" 
 
 The waterman sat up, rubbed his eyes and yawned. 
 Then, without looking at his fare, he led the way 
 to his boat without reply. He was chary of words, 
 and after all, did not all the world know what to 
 pay for conveyance to South wark? 
 
 Rebecca gazed after him for a moment and then, 
 shaking her head pityingly, she murmured : 
 
 "Tut tut! Deef an' dumb, poor man! Dear, 
 dear!" 
 
 To hesitate was to lose all hope of overtaking the 
 obstinate Copernicus. So, first pointing vigorously 
 after the retreating boat with closed umbrella, and 
 with many winks and nods which she supposed sup- 
 
 215
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 plied full meaning to her gestures, she stepped into 
 the wherry, and the two at once glided out on the 
 placid bosom of the Thames. 
 
 Far different was the spectacle that greeted her 
 then from that which may now be witnessed near 
 London Bridge. In those days that bridge was alone 
 visible, not far to the East, and the tide that moves 
 now so darkly between stone embankments beneath 
 a myriad of grimy steamers, then flowed brightly 
 between low banks and wooden wharves, bearing a 
 gliding fleet of sailing-vessels. To the south were 
 the fields and woods of the open country, save where 
 loomed the low frame houses and the green-stained 
 wharves of Southwark village. Behind Rebecca was 
 a vast huddle of frame buildings, none higher than 
 three stories, sharp of gable overhanging narrow 
 streets, while here a tower and there a steeple stood 
 sentinel over the common herd. To the east the 
 four great stone cylinders of the Tower, frowning 
 over the moving world at their feet, loomed grimly 
 then as now. 
 
 Rebecca had fixed her eyes at first with a fasci 
 nated stare on this mighty mass of building, pene 
 trated by a chill of fear, although ignorant of its 
 tragic significance. Turning after a minute or two 
 from contemplation of that gloomy monument of 
 tyrannical power, she gazed eagerly forward again, 
 bent upon keeping sight of the man she was 
 pursuing. 
 
 He and his boat had disappeared, but her disap- 
 216
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 pointment was at once lost in admiring stupefaction 
 as she gazed upon a magnificent craft bearing across 
 the bows of her boat and coming from the direction 
 of Westminster. 
 
 The hull, painted white, was ornamented with a 
 bold arabesque of gilding which seemed to flow nat 
 urally in graceful lines from the garment of a golden 
 image of Victory mounted high on the towering 
 prow. 
 
 From the deck at the front and back rose two large 
 cabins whose sides were all of brilliant glass set be 
 tween narrow panels on which were paintings, which 
 Rebecca could not clearly distinguish from where 
 she was sitting. 
 
 At the waist, between and below the cabins, ten 
 oars protruded from each side of the barge, flash 
 ing rhythmically as they swept forward together, 
 seeming to sprinkle drops of sunlight into the 
 river. 
 
 The splendor of this apparition, contrasting as it 
 did with the small and somewhat dingy craft other 
 wise visible above the bridge, gave a new direction 
 to Rebecca's thoughts and forced from her an almost 
 involuntary exclamation. 
 
 "For the lands sakes!" she murmured. "Whoever 
 in the world carries on in sech style 's that!" 
 
 The waterman looked over his shoulder, and no 
 sooner caught sight of the glittering barge than, with 
 a powerful push of his oars, he backed water and 
 brought his little boat to a stand. 
 
 217
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "The Queen!" he exclaimed. 
 
 Rebecca glanced at the boatman with slightly 
 raised brows. 
 
 "Thought you was deef an' dumb," she said. Then, 
 turning once more to the still approaching barge, she 
 continued: "An' so thet's Queen Victoria's ship, is 
 it?" 
 
 "Victoria!" growled the waterman. "Ye seem as 
 odd in speech as in dress, mistress. Who gave ye 
 license to miscall our glorious sovereign?" 
 
 Rebecca's brows were knit in a thoughtful frown 
 and she scarce knew what her companion said. The 
 approach of the Queen suggested a new plan of ac 
 tion. She had heard of queens as all-powerful rulers, 
 women whose commands would be obeyed at once 
 and without question, in small and personal things 
 as in matters of greater moment. Of Queen Vic 
 toria, too, some accounts had reached her, and all 
 had been in confirmation of that ruler's justice and 
 goodness of heart. 
 
 Rebecca's new plan was therefore to appeal at once 
 to this benign sovereign for aid, entreat her to com 
 mand the Burtons to release Phoebe and to order 
 Copernicus Droop to carry both sisters back to their 
 New England home. This course recommended it 
 self strongly to the strictly honest Rebecca, because 
 it eliminated at once all necessity for "humoring" 
 Phoebe's madness, with its implied subterfuges and 
 equivocations. The moment was propitious for mak 
 ing an attempt which could at least do no harm, she 
 
 218
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 thought. She determined to carry out the plan 
 which had occurred to her. 
 
 Standing up in the boat: "What's the Queen's last 
 name?" she asked. 
 
 "Be seated, woman!" growled the waterman, who 
 was growing uneasy at sight of the increasing eccen 
 tricity of his fare. "The Queen's name is Elizabeth, 
 as well ye know," he concluded, more gently. He 
 hoped to soothe the woman's frenzy by concessions. 
 
 "Now, mister," said Rebecca, severely, "don't you 
 be sassy to me, fer I won't stand it. Of course, I 
 don't want her first name she ain't hired help. 
 What's the Queen's family name quick!" 
 
 The waterman, now convinced that his fare was a 
 lunatic, could think of naught better than to use 
 soothing tones and to reply promptly, however ab 
 surd her questions. "I' faith," he said, in a mild 
 voice, "I' faith, mistress, her Gracious Majesty is of 
 the line of Tudor. Methought " 
 
 But he broke off in horror. 
 
 Waving her umbrella high above her head, Re 
 becca, still standing upright in the boat, was calling 
 at the top of her voice : 
 
 "Hallo there! Mrs. Tudor! Stop the ship, will 
 ye! I want to speak to Mrs. Tudor a minute!" 
 
 All nature seemed to shiver and shrink in silence 
 at this enormous breach of etiquette to use a mild 
 term. Involuntarily the ten pairs of oars in the 
 royal barge hung in mid-air, paralyzed by that sud 
 den outrage. The great, glittering structure, im- 
 
 219
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 pelled by momentum, glided forward directly under 
 the bows of Rebecca's boat and not a hundred yards 
 away. 
 
 Again Rebecca's cry was borne shrill and clear 
 across the water. 
 
 "Hallo! Hallo there! Ain't Mrs. Tudor on the 
 ship? I want to speak to her!" Then, turning to 
 the stupefied and trembling waterman: 
 
 "Why don't you row, you? What's the matter, 
 anyway? Don't ye see they've stopped to wait fer 
 us?" 
 
 Someone spoke within the after cabin. The com 
 mand was repeated in gruff tones by a man's voice, 
 and the ten pairs of oars fell as one into the water 
 and were held rigid to check the progress of the 
 barge. 
 
 "Wherry, ahoy!" a hail came from the deck. 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir!" the waterman cried. 
 
 "Come alongside!" 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir!" 
 
 Pale and weak with dread, the boatman pulled as 
 well as he could toward the splendid vessel ahead, 
 while Rebecca resumed her seat, quite satisfied that 
 all was as it should be. 
 
 A few strokes of the oars brought them to the 
 barge's side, and Rebecca's waterman threw a rope 
 to one of the crew. 
 
 A young man in uniform glowered down upon 
 them, and to him the waterman turned, pulling off 
 his cap and speaking with the utmost humility. 
 
 220
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 "The jade is moon-struck, your worship!" he ex 
 claimed, eagerly. "I would not for a thousand 
 pound 
 
 "Moon-struck!" snapped the lieutenant. "Who 
 gave thee commission to ferry madmen, fellow?" 
 
 The poor waterman, at his wits' end, was about 
 to reply when Rebecca interposed. 
 
 "Young man," she said, standing up, "I'll thank 
 you to 'tend to business. Is Mrs. Victoria Tudor at 
 home?" 
 
 At this moment a young gentleman, magnificently 
 apparelled, stepped forth from the after cabin and 
 approached the man in uniform. 
 
 "Lieutenant," he said, "her Majesty commands 
 that the woman be brought before her in person. 
 As for you," he continued, turning to the waterman, 
 "return whence you came, and choose your fares bet 
 ter henceforth." 
 
 Two of the barge's crew extended each a hand 
 to Rebecca. 
 
 "Bend onto that, Poll!" said one, grinning. 
 
 "Well, I declare!" exclaimed Rebecca. "I never 
 see sech impident help in all my born days! Ain't 
 ye got any steps for a body to climb?" 
 
 A second gorgeously dressed attendant backed 
 hastily out of the cabin. 
 
 "Look alive!" he said, peremptorily. "Her Majes 
 ty waxes impatient. Where is the woman?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir!" replied the sailors. "Here she be!" 
 
 They leaned far forward and, grasping the aston- 
 221
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 ished Rebecca each by a shoulder, lifted her quickly 
 over the rail. 
 
 The first gentleman messenger beckoned to her 
 and started toward the cabin. 
 
 "Follow me!" he said, curtly. 
 
 Rebecca straightened her skirt and bonnet, shook 
 her umbrella, and turned quietly to the rail, fumbling 
 with the catch of her bag. 
 
 "I pity yer manners, young man!" she said, cold 
 ly. Then, with some dismay: 
 
 "Here you, mister, don't ye want yer money?" 
 
 But the waterman, only too glad to escape at all 
 from being involved in her fate, was pulling back to 
 the northern shore as fast as his boat would go. 
 
 "Suit yourself," said Rebecca, simply. "Saves me 
 a dime, I guess." 
 
 Turning then to the impatient gentleman waiting 
 at the door: 
 
 "Guess you're one o' the family, ain't ye? Is your 
 ma in, young man?" 
 
 Fortunately her full meaning was not compre 
 hended, and the person addressed contented himself 
 with drawing aside the heavy curtain of cloth of gold 
 and motioning to Rebecca to precede him. 
 
 She nodded graciously and passed into the cabin. 
 
 "That's better," she said, with an ingratiating 
 smile. "Good manners never did a mite o' harm, 
 did they?" 
 
 Before following her, the messenger turned again 
 to the young lieutenant. 
 
 222
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 "Give way!" lie said. 
 
 At once the sweeps fell together, and the great 
 barge resumed its course down the river. 
 
 As Rebecca entered the glass and gold enclosure, 
 she was at first quite dazzled by the crowd of gor 
 geously arrayed courtiers who stood in two compact 
 groups on either side of her. Young and old alike, all 
 these men of the sword and cloak seemed vying one 
 with another for precedence in magnificence and 
 foppery. The rarest silks of every hue peeped forth 
 through slashed velvets and satins whose rustling 
 masses bedecked men of every age and figure. Paint 
 ed faces and ringed ears everywhere topped snowy 
 ruffles deep and wide, while in every hand, 
 scented gloves, fans, or like toys amused the idle 
 fingers. 
 
 In the background Rebecca was only vaguely con 
 scious of a group of ladies in dresses of comparatively 
 sober pattern and color; but seated upon a luxurious 
 cushioned bench just in front of the others, one of 
 her sex struck Rebecca at once as the very centre 
 and climax of the magnificence that surrounded her. 
 
 Here sat Elizabeth, the vain, proud, tempestuous 
 daughter of "bluff King Hal." Already an old 
 woman, she yet affected the dress and carriage of 
 young maidenhood, possessing unimpaired the van 
 ity of a youthful beauty, and, despite her growing 
 ugliness, commanding the gallant attentions that 
 gratified and supported that vanity. 
 
 Her face, somewhat long and thin, was carefully 
 223
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 painted, but not so successfully as to hide the many 
 wrinkles traced there by her sixty-five years. Her 
 few blackened teeth and her false red hair seemed 
 to be mocked by the transcendent lustre of the rich 
 pearl pendants in her ears. Her thin lips, hooked 
 nose, and small black eyes betokened suppressed an 
 ger as she glared upon her admiring visitor; but, far 
 from being alarmed by the Queen's expression, Re 
 becca was only divided between her admiration of 
 her magnificent apparel and blushing uneasiness at 
 sight of the frankly uncovered bosom which Eliza 
 beth exhibited by right of her spinsterhood. Re 
 becca remembered ever afterward how she wished 
 that "all those men" would sink through the floor 
 of the cabin. 
 
 The Queen was at first both angry at the unheard- 
 of language Rebecca had used, and curious to see 
 what manner of woman dared so to express herself. 
 But now that she set eyes upon the outlandish garb 
 of her prisoner, her curiosity grew at the expense of 
 her wrath, and she sat silent for some time while 
 her little black eyes sought to explore the inmost 
 depths of Rebecca's mind. 
 
 Rebecca, for her part, was quite unconscious of 
 having infringed any of the rules of courtly eti 
 quette, and, without expressing her belief in her 
 complete social equality with the Queen or anyone 
 else present, was so entirely convinced of this equal 
 ity that she would have deemed a statement of it 
 ridiculously superfluous. 
 
 224
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 For a few moments she stood in the middle of the 
 open space immediately before the Queen, partly 
 dazed and bewildered into silence, partly expectant 
 of some remark from her hostess. 
 
 At length, observing the grimly rigid aspect of 
 the silent Queen, Rebecca straightened herself prim 
 ly and remarked, with her most formal air: "I s'pose 
 you are the Queen, ma'am. You seem to be havin' 
 a little party jest now. I hope I'm not intruding 
 but to tell ye the truth, Mrs. Tudor, I've got into 
 a pretty pickle and I want to ask a little favor of 
 you." ' 
 
 She looked about to right and left as though in 
 search of something. 
 
 "Don't seem to be any chairs around, only yours," 
 she continued. Then, with a quick gesture of the 
 hand: "No, don't get up. Set right still now. One 
 o* your friends here can get me a chair, I guess," and 
 she looked very meaningly into the face of a foppish 
 young courtier who stood near her, twisting his thin 
 yellow beard. 
 
 At this moment the rising wonder of the Queen 
 reached a climax, and she burst into speech with char 
 acteristic emphasis. 
 
 "What the good jere!" she cried. "Hath some 
 far planet sent us a messenger. The dame is loyal 
 in all her fantasy. Say, my Lord of Nottingham, 
 hath the woman a frenzy, think you?" 
 
 The gentleman addressed stood near the Queen 
 and was conspicuous for his noble air. His prominent 
 
 225
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 gray eyes under rounded brows lighted up a long, 
 oval face surmounted by a high, bald forehead. The 
 long nose was aquiline, and the generous, full-lipped 
 mouth was only half hidden by a neatly trimmed 
 full blond beard. Rebecca noticed his dress particu 
 larly as he stepped forward at the Queen's summons, 
 and marvelled at the two doublets and heavy cape 
 coat over which hung a massive gold chain support 
 ing the brilliant star of some order. She wondered 
 how he could breathe with that stiff ruff close up 
 under his chin and inclined downward from back to 
 front. 
 
 Dropping on one knee, Nottingham began his re 
 ply to the Queen's inquiry, though ere he finished 
 his sentence he rose to his feet again at a gracious 
 sign from his royal mistress. 
 
 "May it please your Majesty," he said, "I would 
 humbly crave leave to remove the prisoner from a 
 presence she hath nor wit nor will to reverence. Ju 
 dicial inquiry, in form appointed, may better deter 
 mine than my poor judgment whether she be mad 
 or bewitched." 
 
 This solemn questioning of her sanity produced 
 in Rebecca's mind a teasing compound of wrath and 
 uneasiness. These people seemed to find something 
 fundamentally irregular in her behavior. What 
 could it be? The situation was intolerable, and she 
 set to work in her straightforward, energetic way to 
 bring it to an end. 
 
 Stepping briskly up to the astonished Earl of Not- 
 226
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 tingham, she planted herself firmly before him, turn 
 ing her back upon Elizabeth. 
 
 "Now look a-here, Mr. Nottingham," she said, se 
 verely, "I'd like to know what in the world you see 
 that's queer about me or my ways. What's the mat 
 ter, anyway? I came here to make a quiet call on 
 that lady," here she pointed at the Queen with her 
 umbrella, "and instead of anybody bringin' a chair, 
 or sayin' 'How d'ye do,' the whole raft of ye hev 
 done nothin' but stare or call me loony. I s'pose 
 you're mad because I've interrupted your party, but 
 didn't that man there invite me in? Ef you're all 
 so dreadful particler, I'll jest get out o' here till Mrs. 
 Tudor can see me private. I'll set outside, ef I can 
 find a chair." 
 
 With an air of offended dignity she stalked toward 
 the door, but turned ere she had gone ten steps and 
 continued, addressing the assembled company col 
 lectively : 
 
 "As fer bein' loony, I can tell you this. Ef you 
 was where I come from in America, they'd say every 
 blessed one of ye was crazy as a hen with her head 
 off." 
 
 "America!" exclaimed the Queen, as a new 
 thought struck her. "America! Tell me, dame, 
 come you from the New World?" 
 
 "That's what it's sometimes called in the geogra 
 phies," Rebecca stiffly replied. "I come from Pelton- 
 ville, New Hampshire, myself. Perhaps I'd ought 
 to introduce myself. My name's Rebecca Wise, 
 
 227-
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 daughter of Wilmot and Nancy Wise, both de 
 ceased." 
 
 She concluded her sentence with more of gracious- 
 ness than she had shown in the beginning, and the 
 Queen, now fully convinced of the innocent sincerity 
 of her visitor, showed a countenance of half-amused, 
 half-eager interest. 
 
 "Why, Sir Walter," she cried, "this cometh within 
 your province, methinks. If that this good woman 
 be an American, you should be best able to parley 
 with her and learn her will." 
 
 A dark-haired, stern-visaged man of middle height, 
 dressed less extravagantly than his fellows, acknowl 
 edged this address by advancing and bending one 
 knee to the deck. Here was no longer the gay young 
 courtier who so gallantly spoiled a handsome cloak 
 to save his sovereign's shoes, but the Raleigh who 
 had fought a hundred battles for the same mistress 
 and had tasted the bitterness of her jealous cruelty 
 in reward. 
 
 There was in his pose and manner, however, much 
 of that old grace which had first endeared him to 
 Elizabeth, and even now served to fix her fickle favor. 
 
 "Most fair and gracious Majesty," he said in a low, 
 well-modulated voice, turning upward a seeming fas 
 cinated eye, "what Walter Raleigh hath learned of 
 any special knowledge his sovereign hath taught him, 
 and all that he is is hers of right." 
 
 " "Tis well, my good knight," said Elizabeth, beck 
 oning with her slender finger that he might rise. 
 
 228
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 "We know your true devotion and require now this 
 service, that you question this stranger in her own 
 tongue concerning her errand here and her quality 
 and estate at home." 
 
 As Raleigh rose and advanced toward Rebecca, 
 without turning away from the Queen, the half-be 
 wildered American brought the end of her umbrella 
 sharply down upon the floor with a gesture of impa 
 tience. 
 
 "What everlastin' play-actin' ways!" she snapped. 
 Then, addressing Sir Walter: "Say, Mr. Walter," she 
 continued, "ef you can't walk only sideways, you 
 needn't trouble to travel clear over here to me. I'll 
 come to you." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, Rebecca stepped 
 briskly forward until she stood in front of the rather 
 crestfallen courtier. 
 
 He rallied promptly, however, and marshalling by 
 an effort all he could remember of the language of 
 the red man, he addressed the astonished Rebecca 
 in that tongue. 
 
 "What's that?" she said. 
 
 Again Sir Walter poured forth an unintelligible 
 torrent of syllables which completed Rebecca's dis 
 gust. 
 
 With a pitying smile, she folded her hands across 
 her stomach. 
 
 "Who's loony now?" she said, quietly. 
 
 Raleigh gazed helplessly from Rebecca to the 
 Queen and back again from the Queen to Rebecca. 
 
 229
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Elizabeth, who had but imperfectly heard what 
 had passed between the two, leaned forward impa 
 tiently. 
 
 "What says she, Raleigh?" she demanded. "Doth 
 she give a good account?" 
 
 "Good my liege," said Raleigh, with a despairing 
 gesture, "an the dame be from America, her tribe 
 and race must needs be a distant one, placed remote 
 from the coast. The natives of the Floridas " 
 
 "Florida!" exclaimed Rebecca. "What you talkin' 
 about, anyway? That's away down South. I come 
 from New Hampshire, I tell you." 
 
 "Know you that region, Raleigh?" said the Queen, 
 anxiously. 
 
 Raleigh shook his head with a thoughtful expres 
 sion. 
 
 "Way, your Majesty," he replied. "And if I might 
 venture to hint my doubts He paused. 
 
 "Well, go on, man go on!" said the Queen, im 
 patiently. 
 
 "I would observe that the name is an English one, 
 and 'tis scarce credible that in America, where our 
 tongue is unknown, any region can be named for an 
 English county." 
 
 "Land sakes!" exclaimed Rebecca, in growing 
 amazement. "Don't know English! Why don't 
 I talk as good English as any of ye? You 
 don't have to talk Bible talk to speak English, I sh'd 
 hope!" 
 
 Elizabeth frowned and settled back in her chair, 
 230
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 turning her piercing eyes once more upon her mys 
 terious visitor. 
 
 "Your judgment is most sound, Sir Walter," she 
 said. "In sooth, 'twere passing strange were our 
 own tongue to be found among the savages of the 
 New World! What have ye to say to this, mis 
 tress?" 
 
 Rebecca turned her eyes from one to the other of 
 the bystanders, doubtful at first whether or not they 
 were all in a conspiracy to mock her. Her good 
 sense told her that this was wellnigh impossible, and 
 she finally came to the conclusion that sheer igno 
 rance was the only explanation. 
 
 "Well, well!" she exclaimed at last. "I've heerd 
 tell about how simple Britishers was, but this beats 
 all ! Do you reely mean to tell me," she continued, 
 vehemently nodding her head at the Queen, "that 
 you think the's nothin' but Indians in America?" 
 
 A murmur of indignation spread through the as 
 sembly caused by language and manners so little 
 suited to the address of royalty. 
 
 "The woman hath lost her wits!" said the Queen, 
 dryly. 
 
 "There 'tis again!" said Rebecca, testily. "Why, 
 ef it comes to talk of simpletons and the like, I guess 
 the pot can't call the kettle black!" 
 
 Elizabeth gripped the arm of her chair and leaned 
 forward angrily, while two or three gentlemen ad 
 vanced, watching their mistress for the first sign of 
 a command. At the same moment, a triumphant 
 
 231
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 thought occurred to Rebecca, and, dropping her um 
 brella, she opened her satchel with both hands. 
 
 "Ye needn't to get mad, Mrs. Tudor," she said. "I 
 didn't mean any offence, but I guess you wouldn't 
 like to be called a lunatic yerself. See here," she 
 continued, dragging forth a section of the newspaper 
 which she had brought with her, "ef you folks won't 
 believe my word, jest look at this! It's all here in 
 the newspaper right in print. There!" 
 
 She held the paper high where all might see, and 
 with one accord Queen and courtiers craned forward 
 eagerly, burning with curiosity at sight of the printed 
 columns interspersed with nineteenth-century illus 
 trations. 
 
 Rebecca stepped forward and handed the paper 
 to the Queen, and then, drawing forth another sec 
 tion from her bag, she carried it to the bewildered 
 Raleigh, who took it like one in a trance. 
 
 For some time no one spoke. Elizabeth turned 
 the paper this way and that, reading a bit here and 
 a bit there, and gazing spellbound upon the enig 
 matic pictures. 
 
 Having completely mastered the situation, Re 
 becca now found time to consider her comfort. Far 
 on one side, near the door through which she had 
 entered, there stood a youth of perhaps sixteen, clad 
 in the somewhat fantastic garb of a page. Having 
 picked up her umbrella, Rebecca approached this 
 youth and said in a sharp whisper: 
 
 "Couldn't you get me a chair, sonny?" 
 232
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 The lad disappeared with startling promptitude, 
 but he did not return. It was an agony of perplexity 
 and shyness which had moved him, not a willingness 
 to serve. 
 
 Rebecca gazed about at the etiquette-bound men 
 and women around her and muttered, with an indig 
 nant snort and toss of the head: 
 
 "Set o' decorated haystacks !" 
 
 Then, with head held high and a frigid "Beg par 
 don, mister!" she elbowed her way through the dense 
 throng of gentlemen-in-waiting and seated herself on 
 the bench arranged along the side of the cabin. 
 
 "Oof!" she exclaimed. "Feel 's though my legs 
 would drop clear off!" 
 
 At length the Queen looked up. 
 
 "Why, what now!" she exclaimed. "Whither hath 
 the strange woman gone?" 
 
 A tall man dressed in black and gold stepped for 
 ward and dropped upon one knee. He had a long, 
 humorous face, with high cheek bones, a straight, 
 good-humored mouth, with a high mustache well off 
 the lip and a pointed beard. The eyes, set far apart, 
 twinkled with the light of fun as he awaited permis 
 sion to speak. 
 
 "Well, my Lord of Southampton," said the Queen, 
 kindly, "I doubt some gay mischief be afoot. Your 
 face tells me as much, my lord." 
 
 "Nay, my liege," was the humble reply. "Can my 
 face so far forget the duty owed to Royalty as to 
 speak thus, not being first admitted to discourse!" 
 
 233
 
 Elizabeth smiled and replied: 
 
 "Even so, my lord, but we forgive the offence if 
 that your face hath spoken truth. Know you aught 
 of the strange woman? Pray be standing." 
 
 The earl arose and replied: 
 
 "Of her rank and station, she must be a queen at 
 least, or she doth forget herself. This may your 
 Majesty confirm if but these your Majesty's servants 
 be commanded to cross the room." 
 
 Elizabeth, puzzled, bowed her head slightly, and 
 the courtiers behind whom Rebecca had sought rest 
 walked with one accord to the other side of the cabin, 
 revealing to the astonished eyes of the Queen her 
 visitor quietly seated upon the bench. 
 
 Rebecca nodded with a pleased look. 
 
 "Well, there!" she exclaimed. "Much obliged to 
 you all. That's certainly better." 
 
 "Dame," said Elizabeth, sternly, "is this the re 
 spect you show to them above you in America?" 
 
 "Above me !" said Rebecca, straightening up stiffly. 
 "There ain't anybody put above me at home, I can 
 tell you. Ef the' was, I'd put 'em down mighty 
 quick, I guess." 
 
 Elizabeth raised her brows and, leaning toward 
 the lord treasurer, who stood at her side, she said in 
 an undertone: 
 
 "This must be some sovereign princess in her own 
 country, my lord. How comes it I have not had 
 earlier intelligence of her arrival in this realm?" 
 
 Lord Burleigh bowed profoundly and mumbled 
 234
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 something about its being out of his immediate prov 
 ince he would have investigation made etc., etc. 
 
 The Queen cut him short a little impatiently. 
 
 "Let it be done, my lord," she said. 
 
 Then turning to Rebecca, she continued: 
 
 "Our welcome is somewhat tardy, but none the less 
 sincere. England hath e'er been friendly to the 
 American, and you had been more fittingly received 
 had our informants been less negligent." 
 
 Here the Queen shot a glance at poor Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, who now seemed the personification of dis 
 comfiture. 
 
 "By what name are you called?" Elizabeth con 
 tinued. 
 
 "Wise," said Rebecca, very graciously, "Rebecca 
 Wise." 
 
 "Lady Rebecca, will you sit nearer ?" 
 
 Instantly one of the pages sprang forward with a 
 low chair, which, in obedience to a sign from the 
 Queen, he placed at her right hand. 
 
 "Why, I'd be right pleased," said Rebecca. "That 
 is, if the other folks don't mind," she continued, look 
 ing around. "I don't want to spile your party." 
 
 So saying, she advanced and sat beside the Queen, 
 who now turned once more to the luckless Raleigh. 
 
 "Well, Sir Walter," she said, "what say you now? 
 You have the printed proof. Can you make aught 
 of it? How comes it that in all your fine travels in 
 the New World you have heard no English spoken?" 
 
 "Oh, I dare say 'tain't his fault!" said Rebecca, 
 235
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 indulgently. "I'm told they have a mighty queer 
 way o' talkin' down South, where he's ben. Comes 
 o' bein' brought up with darkies, ye know." 
 
 Elizabeth took up the newspaper once more. 
 
 "Was this printed in your realm, Lady Rebecca?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Hey!" 
 
 Elizabeth started haughtily, but recollected her 
 self and repeated : 
 
 "Was this leaf printed in your country?" 
 
 "Oh, yes yes, indeed! Down to New York. 
 Pretty big paper, ain't it?" 
 
 "Not voluminous alone, but right puzzling to 
 plain English minds," said the Queen, scanning the 
 paper severely. "Instance this." 
 
 Slowly she read the opening lines of a market re 
 port: 
 
 "The bulls received a solar-plexus blow yesterday 
 when it was reported that the C. R. and L. directors 
 had resigned in a body owing to the extensive strikes." 
 
 "What words are these?" Elizabeth exclaimed in 
 a despairing tone. "What is a plexus of the sun, and 
 how doth it blow on a bull?" 
 
 Rebecca jumped up and brought her head close to 
 the Queen's, peering over the paper which she held. 
 She read and reread the paragraph in question and 
 finally resumed her chair, slowly shaking her head. 
 
 "I guess that's the Wall Street talk I've heerd tell 
 of," she said. "I don't understand that kind myself." 
 
 "Why, Sir Walter," Elizabeth exclaimed, triumph- 
 236
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 antly, "here have we two separate tribes at least, 
 each speaking its proper dialect. Can it be that you 
 have heard no word of these before?" 
 
 "Even so, my liege," was the dejected reply, "the 
 tribes of the North are known to no man as yet." 
 
 "Passing strange!" mused the Queen, running a 
 critical eye over the printed page before her. "Your 
 talk, and that of others, hath been only of wild, cop 
 per-colored savages, living in rude huts and wearing 
 only skins. Sure such as these have not types and 
 printing-presses! What is this book, Lady Rebecca?" 
 
 "That's a newspaper, ma'am. Don't you have 'em 
 in London? They come out every day an' people 
 pay a penny apiece fer 'em." 
 
 Elizabeth flashed a stern glance upon her visitor. 
 
 " 'Twere best not go too far, my lady," she said, 
 harshly. "E'en traveller's tales must in some sort 
 ape the truth at least. Now, prithee, to what end 
 is such a pamphlet printed why, 'tis endless!" 
 
 "I'll shet right up, Mis' Tudor, ef ye think I'm 
 tellin' wrong stories," said Rebecca, indignantly. 
 "Thet's a newspaper an' thet's all there is to it." 
 
 Elizabeth evaded the issue and turned now to the 
 illustrations. 
 
 "These be quaint-wondrous images!" she said. 
 "Pray, what now may this be? Some fantastic rev 
 erie limned for amusement?" 
 
 Rebecca jumped up again and peered over the 
 Queen's shoulder. 
 
 "Why, thet's a picture of the troops marchin' down 
 237
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Broadway, in New York City. See, it's all explained 
 in print underneath it." 
 
 "But these men carry arquebuses and wear a liv 
 ery. And these temples to what false gods are they 
 setup?" 
 
 "False gods!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Bless your 
 simple heart, those ain't temples. They're jest the 
 buildin's where the men hev their offices." 
 
 Elizabeth sat in mute contemplation, vainly seek 
 ing to realize it all. 
 
 "My lords!" she burst forth suddenly, casting the 
 paper violently to the floor, "or this be rank forgery 
 and fraud or else have we been strangely deceived." 
 
 She frowned at Sir Walter, who dropped his 
 eyes. 
 
 " "Tis not to be believed that such vast cities and 
 great armies habited by peoples polite and learned 
 may be found across the sea and no report of it come 
 to them that visit there. How comes it that we must 
 await so strange a chance as this to learn such weighty 
 news?" 
 
 She paused and only silence ensued. 
 
 Rebecca stooped and recovered the paper, which 
 in falling had opened so as to expose new matter. 
 
 "Don't be surprised," she said, soothingly. "I 
 allus did hear that Britishers knew mighty little 
 'bout America." 
 
 Still frowning, Elizabeth mechanically stretched 
 forth her hand and Rebecca gave her the paper. The 
 Queen glanced at the sheet and her face lost its stern 
 
 238
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 aspect as she eagerly brought the print nearer to 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Why, what now!" she exclaimed. "God mend us, 
 here have we strange attire! Is this a woman of 
 your tribe, my lady?" 
 
 Rebecca looked and blushed. Then, in an uneasy 
 tone, she said: 
 
 "That's jest an advertisement fer a new corset, 
 Mis' Tudor. I never did see how folks ever allowed 
 sech things to be printed 'tain't respectable!" 
 
 "A corset, call you it! And these, then?" 
 
 "Oh, those are the styles, the fashions ! That's the 
 fashion page, ye know. That's where they tell all 
 about what the rich folks down to New York are 
 wearin'." 
 
 There was a murmur and a rustle among the la 
 dies-in-waiting, who had hitherto made no sign, and 
 upon the Queen's cheek there spread an added tinge, 
 betokening a high degree of interest and gratifica 
 tion. 
 
 "Ah!" she sighed, and glanced pleasantly over her 
 shoulder, "here be matters of moment, indeed! 
 Your Grace of Devonshire, what say you to this?" 
 
 Eagerly the elderly lady so addressed stepped for 
 ward and made a low reverence. 
 
 "Look look here, ladies all!" Elizabeth contin 
 ued, with a tremor of excitement in her voice. "Saw 
 you ever such an array as this?" 
 
 With one accord the whole bevy of assembled la 
 dies pressed forward, trembling with delighted antici- 
 
 239
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 pation. A fashion sheet and from the New World! 
 What wonder they were moved! 
 
 Her Majesty was about to begin perusal of one of 
 the fascinating paragraphs wherein were described 
 those marvellous fashion-plates when there was a 
 cry outside of "Way 'nough!" and a moment later 
 the smart young lieutenant who had before accosted 
 Rebecca entered and stood at attention. 
 
 Elizabeth looked up and frowned slightly. Fold 
 ing the paper carefully, she called to Sir Walter, 
 who still held in his unconscious hand the other sec 
 tion of the paper. 
 
 "Bring hither yon sheet, Sir Walter," she cried. 
 "Perchance there may be further intelligence of this 
 sort therein. We will peruse both pamphlets at our 
 leisure anon." 
 
 Then, turning to the Lord High Admiral: 
 
 "My Lord of Nottingham," she said, "you may 
 depart. Your duties await you without. Let it be 
 the charge of your Grace," she continued, addressing 
 the Duchess of Devonshire, "to attend her Highness 
 the Lady Rebecca. See that she be maintained as 
 suits her rank, and let her be near our person that 
 we may not lose aught of her society." 
 
 The ceremony of landing prevented further dis 
 course between Rebecca and the Queen, and it was 
 with the greatest interest that the stranger observed 
 every detail of the formal function. 
 
 Peering through the glass sides of the cabin, Re 
 becca could see the landing wharf, thronged with 
 
 240
 
 HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 
 
 servants and magnificently dressed officers, while be 
 yond there loomed a long, two-storied white stone 
 building, with a round-arched entrance flanked by 
 two towers. This was Greenwich Palace, a favorite 
 summer residence of the Queen. 
 
 241
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOARDS HEAD 
 
 When Francis Bacon, having evaded Rebecca's 
 mistaken pursuit, reached the deserted grove in 
 which the Panchronicon still rested, he found to his 
 dismay that Droop was absent. 
 
 Copernicus was not the man to let the grass grow 
 under his feet, and he had set off that morning with 
 his letter of introduction to seek Sir Percevall Hart, 
 the Queen's knight harbinger. 
 
 He had determined to begin with moderation, or 
 in other words to ask at first for only two patents. 
 The first of these was to cover the phonograph. The 
 second was to give him a monopoly of bicycles. 
 
 Accordingly he set forth fully equipped, carrying 
 a box of records over his shoulder by a strap and his 
 well-oiled bicycle trundling along beside him, with 
 a phonograph and small megaphone hung on the 
 handle-bar. He thought it best to avoid remark by 
 not riding his wheel, being shrewdly mindful of the 
 popular prejudice against witchcraft. Thanks to his 
 exchange with Master Bacon, he feared no comment 
 upon his garb. A pint flask, well filled, was concealed 
 within his garments, and thus armed against even 
 
 242
 
 THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD 
 
 melancholy itself, he set forth fearlessly upon his 
 quest. 
 
 Droop had set out from the Panchronicon in the 
 middle of the forenoon, but, as he was obliged to 
 distribute a large number of photographs among his 
 customers before going to London, it was not until 
 some time after Bacon had crossed the river and 
 Kebecca had departed with the Queen that he found 
 himself on London Bridge. 
 
 On reaching the London side, he stood awhile in 
 the ill-smelling street near the fish markets gazing 
 about him in quest of someone from whom he might 
 ask his way. 
 
 "Let's see!" he mused. "Bacon said Sir Percevall 
 Hart, Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap. First thing 
 to find is Eastcheap, I guess. Hullo there, forsooth!" 
 he cried, addressing a baker's boy who was shuffling 
 by with his basket on his head. "Hullo there, boy 
 knave! What's the shortest cut to Eastcheap?" 
 
 The lad stopped and stared hard at the bright 
 wheels. He seemed thinking hard. 
 
 "What mean you, master, by a cut?" he said, at 
 length. 
 
 "Oh, pshaw bother!" Droop exclaimed. "Jest 
 tell me the way to Eastcheap, wilt thee?" 
 
 The boy pointed straight north up New Fish 
 Street. 
 
 "Eastcheap is yonder," he said, and turned away. 
 
 "Well, that's somethin'," muttered Droop, "Gives 
 me a start, anyway." 
 
 243
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Following the route pointed out, he retraced the 
 very course along which earlier in the day Rebecca 
 had proceeded in the opposite direction, thinking she 
 saw him ahead of her. By dint of making numerous 
 inquiries, he found himself at length in a region of 
 squalid residences and second-rate shops and ale 
 houses, in the midst of which he finally discovered 
 the Boar's Head Tavern. 
 
 The entrance was by a dark archway, overhung 
 by the upper stories of the building, down which he 
 could see a reddish glow coming and going, now faint 
 now bright, against the dead wall to the left. Pass 
 ing cautiously down this passage, he soon found that 
 the glow was projected through a half -curtained 
 window to the right, and was caused by the dancing 
 light of a pleasant fire of logs within. 
 
 He thought it wise to reconnoitre before proceed 
 ing farther, and, peeping through the small leaded 
 panes, he found he could survey the entire apart 
 ment. 
 
 The room into which Droop stood gazing was the 
 common tap-room of the inn, at that moment appar 
 ently the scene of a brisk altercation. 
 
 To the left of the great brick fireplace, a large 
 pewter mug in his right hand, an immensely fat man 
 was seated. He was clad as became a cavalier, al 
 though in sober colors, and his attitude was sugges 
 tive of defence, his head being drawn far back to 
 avoid contact with a closed fist held suggestively be 
 fore his face. The fist was that of a woman who. 
 
 244
 
 THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD 
 
 standing before the fire with her other hand resting 
 on her hip, was evidently delivering her sentiments 
 in no gentle terms. 
 
 A long table, black with age and use, stood paral 
 lel to the right-hand wall, and behind this three men 
 were sitting with mugs before them, eying the dis 
 putants with evident interest. To the left a large 
 space was devoted to three or four bulky casks, and 
 here an aproned drawer sat astride of a rush-bottomed 
 chair, grinning delightedly and exchanging nods and 
 winks from time to time with an impish, undersized 
 lad who lay on his stomach on a wine-butt with his 
 head craning forward over the edge. 
 
 Only an occasional word reached the watcher at 
 the window, but among these few he recognized a 
 number which were far more forcible than decent. 
 He drew back, shook his head, and then slowly re 
 turned to the door and looked up. 
 
 Yes he had made no mistake. Above his head 
 there swung the sign of the Boar's Head. And yet 
 was it likely or even possible that Sir Percevall 
 Hart could make such a vulgar haunt as this his 
 headquarters? Sir Percevall the Queen's harbin 
 ger and the friend of the Prime Minister ! 
 
 With a sinking heart and a face clouded with anx 
 iety, Droop propped his bicycle against the wall 
 within the passage and resolutely raised the heavy 
 latch. 
 
 To his surprise, instead of the torrent of words 
 which he had expected to hear when he opened the 
 
 245
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 door, complete silence reigned as he entered. The 
 fat man in the chair by the fire was still leaning back 
 ward, but his tankard was now inverted above his 
 head, and a glance showed that his companions at 
 the long table were similarly employed. 
 
 Copernicus turned about and closed the door very 
 carefully, unwilling to break the profound silence. 
 Then he tiptoed his way to the fire, and leaning for 
 ward rubbed his hands before the crackling logs, 
 nervously conscious of six pairs of eyes concentrated 
 upon his back. Droop was not unfamiliar with the 
 bar-rooms of such a city as Boston, but he found an 
 Elizabethan tavern a very different sort of place. So, 
 although already warmer than desirable, he could 
 only stand half bent before a fire all too hot and 
 wonder what he should do next. 
 
 Finally he mustered courage enough to turn about 
 and survey with shamefaced mien the tavern interior. 
 As he turned the four guests dropped their eyes with 
 painful unanimity and the drawer fell to scouring 
 a pewter mug with his apron. Only the boy perched 
 on the cask kept his eyes obstinately fixed on the 
 stranger. 
 
 Droop now noticed for the first time that behind 
 the casks there was a snug recess containing a table 
 and two well-worn benches, evidently intended for 
 the entertainment of guests desirous of a tete-a-tete. 
 
 Thither he at once directed his steps, and seating 
 himself upon one of the benches, looked about him 
 for a bell. He could hear the three men at the long 
 
 246
 
 THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD 
 
 table whispering busily, and could see that they had 
 their heads together. 
 
 The fat man stirred in his chair with a rolling 
 motion. 
 
 "Drawer!" he called. 
 
 "Here!" cried the drawer, bustling up to the fire. 
 
 "A second tankard of that same sack, boy. Bustle, 
 bustle!" 
 
 "I must first to my mistress, sir," was the reply. 
 "Nothing for credit, sir, save by permission." 
 
 "A pox upon thee !" growled the thirsty man. "On 
 thee and thy mistress, too!" 
 
 Muttering and shaking his head, the ponderous 
 guest stretched forth his legs, closed his eyes, and 
 composed himself for a nap. 
 
 The drawer tipped a wink to the grinning pot-boy 
 on the cask, and then bustled over to Droop's table, 
 which he proceeded to wipe vigorously with his apron. 
 
 "Did you call, sir?" he said. 
 
 "Yes," said Copernicus. "Bring me a schooner of 
 light lager." 
 
 The drawer's busy apron hand stopped at once and 
 its owner leaned hard on the table. 
 
 "What command gave you, sir?" he said. 
 
 "Marry a schooner of lager light, forsooth!" 
 Droop repeated. 
 
 "Cry you mercy, sir," said the drawer, straighten 
 ing up, "this be the Boar's Head Tavern, sir. What 
 may your worship require by way of food and 
 drink?" 
 
 247
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "These old-timers beat all creation for ignorance," 
 muttered Droop. Then, looking up into the man's 
 face, he called for one drink after another, watch 
 ing hopefully for some sign of answering intelli 
 gence. 
 
 "Give me a Scotch high-ball. No? Then a gin 
 sling. Hot Tom and Jerry, then. Marry, an egg 
 flip, i' faith ! Ain't got 'em? Get me a brandy smash 
 a sherry cobbler a gin rickey rock and rye a 
 whisky sour a mint julep ! What ! Nothin' ? What 
 in thunder do ye sell, then?" 
 
 The drawer scratched his head, and then grinned 
 suddenly and gave vent to a dry laugh. 
 
 "Well said! Well said, master! The jest is a 
 merry one call me a Jew else !" Then, sobering 
 as briskly as he had taken to laughing: "Will you 
 have a cup of sack, master, to settle the stomach 
 after fasting or a drop of Canary or Xeres or a 
 mug of ale, perchance " 
 
 "That's right, by my halidom!" Droop broke in. 
 "Bring me some ale, waiter." 
 
 The drawer whisked away and returned in a few 
 moments with a huge power tankard topped with a 
 snowy foam. 
 
 "That's the stuff!" said Droop, smacking his lips. 
 He half-emptied the beaker, and then, turning to the 
 drawer: 
 
 "Can you tell me," he said, "if I can find a man 
 by the name of Hart here Sir Percevall Hart?" 
 
 "Sir Percevall," said the drawer, in an undertone. 
 248
 
 THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD 
 
 "Why, there's your man, master. The fat knight 
 snoring by yon fire." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Droop. "The man who" 
 He broke off and stared awhile in silence. Finally, 
 shaking his head: "Never would have thought it!" 
 he said. 
 
 Copernicus lapsed into meditation and the drawer 
 withdrew. At length Droop roused himself with a 
 shake. 
 
 "Won't do no good to set here doin' nothin'," he 
 muttered. Then, swallowing the remainder of his 
 ale, he drew his letter of introduction from his pocket 
 and walked back to the fireplace. 
 
 The knight, who was not sleeping very soundly, 
 slightly opened one eye, and to his surprise, beheld 
 a letter which Droop held almost under his nose. 
 
 Sitting up straight and now fully awake, Sir Per- 
 cevall stared first at Copernicus and then at the 
 letter. 
 
 "A letter!" he exclaimed. "For me?" 
 
 "Verily, yea," Droop replied, very politely. 
 
 The knight opened the letter slowly and turned 
 so that the light from a window fell full upon it. 
 
 "What's here!" he exclaimed. "This direction is 
 to my Lord Burleigh." 
 
 "Yep oh, yes, yea!" said Droop, confusedly. 
 "But you was to read it peruse it, you wot Bacon 
 said as much. He said you knew the lord and could 
 take me around, forsooth, and sorter interduce me, 
 
 ye see." 
 
 249
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 With leisurely gravity, Sir Percevall slowly read 
 the note, and then, returning it with a polite gest 
 ure: 
 
 "This letter hath reference to certain monopolies," 
 he said. "My cousin Bacon doth write in high terms 
 of your skill and high merit, Master Master " 
 
 "Droop, sir. Copernicus Droop's my name." 
 
 "Ah, yes! And the service you require ? I beg 
 your indulgence, but, sooth to say, being nigh starved 
 of late in this tavern of ill repute, my poor wits have 
 grown fat. I am slow of apprehension, Master 
 Wither " 
 
 "Droop, sir Droop." 
 
 "Kay cry you mercy Master Droop." 
 
 "Why, now, Sir Percy," said Copernicus, with oily 
 grace, "ef you wouldn't mind, I'd be proud ef you'd 
 set down over yonder, perchance, and have a glass 
 with me. We'd be more private then, and I could 
 make this hull business clear to ye. What say ye, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Why, there's my hand, Master Dupe Droop," 
 said the knight, his face brightening mightily. "Five 
 yards are a mile for a man of my girth, Master 
 Droop, but praise God such words as these of yours 
 cheer my heart to still greater deeds than faring a 
 mile afoot." 
 
 Slowly and painfully the corpulent knight drew 
 himself to his feet, and with one hand bearing affec 
 tionately but heavily on Droop's shoulder, he shuffled 
 over to the recess and seated himself. 
 
 250
 
 THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD 
 
 ''What ho, there! Drawer!" he shouted, as soon 
 as they were comfortably disposed face to face. 
 
 "Anon, sir, anon!" came the familiar reply, and 
 the drawer, who had just served two new guests at 
 the long table, now hurried over to the nook behind 
 the casks. 
 
 "A quart of sack, villain!" said Sir Percevall. 
 
 "And for you, sir?" said the drawer, turning to 
 Droop. 
 
 "Yes, yea, bring me the same." He had no idea 
 what sack was, but he felt that in all probability it 
 was a mild beverage, or no one would order a quart 
 at once. 
 
 "And this same letter, now," Sir Percevall began. 
 "To warn you truly, friend, this matter of monopo 
 lies hath something of an ill savor in the public mind. 
 What with sweet wines, salt, hides, vinegar, iron, oil, 
 lead, yarn, glass, and what not in monopoly, men 
 cry out that they are robbed and the Queen's ad 
 visers turn pale at the very word." 
 
 He interrupted himself to give his attention to the 
 wine which had just been placed before him. 
 
 "To better acquaintance!" he said, and the two 
 drank deep together. 
 
 Droop smacked his lips critically and turned up 
 his eyes for greater abstraction. The wine was pleas 
 ant to the palate, he thought, but well it wasn't 
 whiskey. 
 
 "Of this letter, now," the knight resumed, anxious 
 to discover his own advantage in Droop's plans. 
 
 251
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 " 'Twere vain for you, a stranger to the Lord High 
 Treasurer, to accost him with it. A very circum 
 spect and pragmatical old lord, believe me. Not every 
 man hath admittance to him, I promise ye. As for 
 me, why, God 'ild you, man! 'twas but yesterday a 
 fortnight Burleigh slapped me o' the shoulder and 
 said: 'Percevall, ye grow fat, you rogue on the 
 word of a Cecil!' Oh, trust me, Master Droop; my 
 lord much affects my conversation!" 
 
 "Is that a fact?" said Droop, admiringly. "It cer 
 tainly ain't done your conversation any harm to be 
 affected that way." 
 
 "Oh, then, an you jest, Master " 
 
 "Not a mite!" exclaimed Copernicus, anxiously. 
 "Verily, nay, friend. Trust me never!" 
 
 "Or never trust thee!' quoth the knight, with a 
 twinkle in his eye. 
 
 Droop took refuge in his wine, and Sir Percevall 
 imitating him, the two emptied their cups together 
 and sighed with a simultaneous content. 
 
 "That's not bad swizzle," said Droop, patronizing 
 ly. "But, as fer me, give me whiskey every time !" 
 
 "Whiskey!" said the knight with interest. "Nay, 
 methought I knew every vintage and brew, each label 
 and brand from Rhine to the Canaries. But this 
 name, Master Droop, I own I never heard. Whiskey, 
 say you?" 
 
 / */ 
 
 "Well, now, do tell!" said Droop, drawing forth 
 his flask of nineteenth-century rye, "never heerd o' 
 whiskey, eh? Never tasted it, either, I s'pose?" 
 
 252
 
 THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD 
 
 "How should I taste it, man, not knowing its very 
 name?" 
 
 "Verily, thou sayest sooth!" said Droop. Then, 
 glancing all about him: "Ain't there any smaller 
 glasses 'round here?" 
 
 "Drawer ho, drawer, I say!" roared the knight. 
 
 "Here, sir here ! What is your pleasure ?" 
 
 "The pleasure is to come, rogue! Fetch hither 
 two of yon scurvy glass thimbles you wot of. Hostess 
 calls them cordial glasses. Haste now! Scramble, 
 varlet!" 
 
 When the two small glasses were brought, Droop 
 uncorked his flask and poured each full to the brim. 
 
 "Th' ain't any seltzer in this one-hoss town," he 
 said, "so I can't make ye a high-ball. We'll jest hev 
 to drink it straight, Sir Knight. Here's luck ! Drink 
 hearty!" and with a jerk of hand and head he tossed 
 the spirits down his throat at a gulp and smacked his 
 lips as he set down his glass. 
 
 Sir Percevall followed his friend's movements with 
 a careful eye and imitated him as exactly as possible, 
 but he did not escape a coughing fit, from which he 
 emerged with a purple face and tear-filled eyes. 
 
 "Have another?" said Droop, cheerfully. 
 
 "A plague on queezy gullets!" growled the knight. 
 "Your spirits sought two ways at once, Master Droop, 
 and like any other half-minded equivocal transaction, 
 contention was the outcome. But for the whiskey, 
 mind you why, it hath won old Sir Percevall's 
 heart. Zounds, man! Scarce two fingers of it, and 
 
 253
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 yet I feel the wanton laugh in me already. Good 
 fellows need good company, my master! So pour 
 me his fellow! So so !" 
 
 They drank again, and this time the more cautious 
 knight escaped all painful consequences. 
 
 "Look you, Master Droop," said the delighted old 
 toper, leaning back against the wall as he beamed 
 across the table at his companion, "look you! An 
 you have a butt of this same brew, Sir Percevall 
 Hart is your slave, your scullion, your foot-boy! 
 Why, man, 'tis the elixir of life ! It warms a body 
 like a maid's first kiss! Whence had you it?" 
 
 "Oh, they make it by the million gallons a year 
 where I come from," Droop replied. "Have another. 
 Take it with hot water and sugar I mean honey." 
 
 The advice was followed, and while they sipped 
 the enlivening decoction, Copernicus explained his 
 plans touching the patenting of his phonograph and 
 bicycle. When he concluded his relation, the knight 
 leaned back and gazed at him with an affectionate 
 squint. 
 
 "See, now, bully rook, if I take you," he said. 
 "It behooves you to have fair inductance at court. 
 For this ye come to Sir Percevall Hart, her Majesty's 
 harbinger and though he says so himself a good 
 friend to Cecil. Now, mark me, lad. Naught do I 
 know or care of thy 'funny craft' or 'bicycle.' Master 
 Bacon is a philosopher and you have here his certifi 
 cate. Say I well what?" 
 
 He paused and Droop nodded. 
 254
 
 THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD 
 
 "Good and so to better. Naught care I, or know 
 I, or should or could I trow, being a man of poetical 
 turn and no base mechanic no offence meant to 
 yourself, Master Droop. But this I do say and now 
 mark me well I say and dare maintain it (and all 
 shall tell ye that is a fair maintenance and a good 
 champion), that for a sure and favorable inductance 
 to the favors of the court there's no man living takes 
 the wall o' Percevall Hart, Knight!" 
 
 "Bacon told me as much," said Droop. 
 
 "And he told thee well, my master. Frank is a 
 good lad, though vain, and his palm itcheth. So to 
 terms, eh? Now, methinks 'twere but equity and 
 good fellowship for two such as we are to go snacks, 
 eh? Cut through the middle even halves, bully 
 even halves ! How say you?" 
 
 "You don't mean," said Droop, "that you'd want 
 half the profits, jest fer introducin' me to Lord 
 What's-is-name, do ye?" 
 
 "With a small retainer, of course, to bind fast. 
 Say oh, a matter of twenty gold angels or so." 
 
 "Why, blame your confounded overstretched 
 skin!" cried Droop, hotly, "I'd sooner drop the hull 
 darn thing! You must take me fer a nat'ral born 
 fool, I guess!" 
 
 "Nay, then 'twixt friends," said the knight, 
 soothingly. " 'Twixt friends, say we remit one half 
 the profits. Procure me but the angels, Master 
 Droop, and drop the remainder." 
 
 "As many devils sooner!" said Droop, indignantly. 
 "I'll take my pigs to another market." 
 
 255
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 He rose and beckoned to the drawer. 
 
 "Kay, then, why so choleric!" pleaded the knight, 
 leaning anxiously across the table. "What terms do 
 ye offer, Master Droop? Come, man, give a show of 
 reason now name your terms." 
 
 It was to this point that Copernicus had counted 
 upon bringing the helpless knight, who was far from 
 a match for a Yankee. He had driven his own 
 bargain with Bacon, and he now resolved that Ba 
 con's friend should fare no better. In pursuit of 
 this plan, he moved from his seat with a sour face. 
 
 "I don't feel much like takin' up with a man who 
 tries to do me," he grumbled, shaking his head and 
 beckoning again to the drawer. 
 
 "Do thee, man do thee!" cried the knight. 
 "Why, an I do thee good, what cause for grief?" 
 Spreading forth his two fat hands, he continued: 
 "Spake I not fairly? An my offer be not to thy 
 taste say thine own say. What the devil, man; 
 must we quarrel perforce?" 
 
 Droop scratched his head and seemed to hesitate. 
 Finally he slapped the table with his open hand and 
 cried with a burst of generosity: 
 
 "I'll tell ye what I will do. I've got two quart 
 bottles of that same ripe whiskey, and I'll give 'em 
 both to ye the day the Queen gives me my patents!" 
 
 "Nay nay!" said the knight, straightening him 
 self with dignity. " 'Twere a mere fool's prank at 
 such terms!" 
 
 "Oh, all right!" cried Droop, turning away. 
 256
 
 THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD 
 
 "Hold hold! Not so fast!" cried Sir Percevall. 
 But Copernicus merely slapped his hat on his head 
 and started toward the door. 
 
 Sir Percevall leaned over the table in flushed des 
 peration. 
 
 "Listen, friend!" he cried. "Wilt make a jolly 
 night of it in the bargain?" 
 
 Droop stopped and turned to his companion. 
 
 "D'ye mean right now?" 
 
 A nod was the reply. 
 
 "And you'll take my offer if I do?" 
 
 The knight sat upright and slapped the table. 
 
 "On my honor!" he cried. 
 
 "Then it's a go!" said Droop. 
 
 257
 
 CHAPTEE XII 
 
 HOW SHAKESPEARE WBOTE HIS PLAYS 
 
 As Francis Bacon returned to London from the 
 Peacock, Phoebe had stood at the foot of the steps 
 leading into the courtyard and watched him depart. 
 She little foresaw the strange adventure into which 
 he was destined to lead her sister. Indeed, her 
 thoughts were too fully occupied with another to 
 give admittance to Rebecca's image. 
 
 Her lover was in danger danger to his life and 
 honor. She knew he was to be saved, yet was not 
 free from anxiety, for she felt that it was to be her 
 task to save him. To this end she had sent Bacon 
 with his message to Copernicus. She believed now 
 that a retreat was ready for young Fenton. How 
 would her confidence have been shaken could she 
 have known that Copernicus had already left the 
 Panchronicon and that Bacon had been sent in vain ! 
 
 In ignorance of this, she stood now at the foot of 
 the stairs and let her thoughts wander back to the 
 day before, dwelling with tenderness upon the mem 
 ory of her lover's patient attendance upon her in 
 that group of rustic groundlings. With a self-re- 
 
 258
 
 HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 
 
 proachful ache at the heart she pictured herself as 
 she had sat far up in the gallery gazing downward 
 with every faculty centred upon the stage, while he, 
 thinking only of her 
 
 She started and looked quickly to right and left. 
 Why, it was here, almost upon these very stones, that 
 he had stood. Here she had seen him for one mo 
 ment at the last as she was leaving her seat. He 
 was leaning upon a rude wooden post. She sought 
 it with her eyes and soon caught sight of it not ten 
 feet away. 
 
 Then she noticed for the first time that she was 
 not alone. A young fellow in the garb of a hostler 
 stood almost where Guy had been the day before. 
 He paid no attention to Phoebe, for he was appar 
 ently deeply preoccupied in carving some device 
 upon the very post against which Guy had leaned. 
 
 Already occupied with her own tenderness, she 
 was quick to conclude that here, too, was a lover, 
 busy with some emblem of affection. Had not Or 
 lando cut Rosalind's name into the bark of many a 
 helpless tree? 
 
 Clasping her hands behind her, she smiled at the 
 lad with head thrown back. 
 
 "A wager, lad!" she cried. "Two shillings to a 
 groat thou art cutting a love-token!" 
 
 The fellow looked up and tried to hide his knife. 
 Then, grinning, he replied: 
 
 "I'll no take your challenge, mistress. Yet, i' good 
 faith, 'tis but to crown another's work." 
 
 259
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Then, pointing with his blade: 
 
 "See where he hath carved letters four," he con 
 tinued. "Wi' love-links, too. A watched un yes- 
 tre'en, whiles the play was forward. A do but carve 
 a heart wi' an arrow in't." 
 
 She blushed suddenly, wondering if it were Guy 
 who had done this. Stepping to the side of the sta 
 ble-boy, she examined the post. 
 
 The letters were in pairs. They were M. B. and 
 G. F. 
 
 Her feeling bubbled over in a little half-stifled 
 laugh. 
 
 "Silly!" she exclaimed. Then to the boy: "Know 
 you him who cut the letters?" she asked, with af 
 fected indifference. 
 
 "Nay, mistress," he replied, falling again to his 
 work, "but he be a rare un wi' the bottle." 
 
 "The bottle!" Phoebe exclaimed, in amazement. 
 Then quite sternly : "Thou beliest him, knave ! No 
 more sober " She checked herself, suddenly con 
 scious of her indiscretion. 
 
 "Why, how knowest his habits?" she asked, more 
 quietly. 
 
 "A saw un, mistress, sitting in the kitchen wi' 
 two bottles o' Spanish wine. Ask the player else." 
 
 "The player! What player?" 
 
 "Him as was drinking wi' him. Each cracked his 
 bottle, and 'twas nip and tuck which should call first 
 for the second." 
 
 So Guy had spent the evening those hours when 
 260
 
 HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 
 
 she was tenderly dreaming of him with love renewed 
 drinking and carousing with some dissolute actor! 
 
 Within her Phoebe Wise and Mary Burton strug 
 gled for mastery of her opinion. 
 
 What more natural than that a poor lad, tired 
 with waiting on his feet for hours for one look from 
 the mistress who disdained him, should seek to for 
 get his troubles quaffing good wine in the company 
 of some witty player? This was Mary's view. 
 
 What! To leave the presence of his sweetheart 
 the girl to whom he had just written that penitent 
 letter to go fresh from the inspiration of all that 
 should uplift a lover, and befuddle his brains with 
 "rum," gossiping with some coarse-grained barn 
 stormer! So Phoebe railed. 
 
 "Who was the player?" she asked, sharply. 
 
 "Him as wore the long white beard," said the boy. 
 "The Jew, to wit. Eh, but a got his cess, the run- 
 nion!" 
 
 "Shylock!" she cried, in spite of herself. 
 
 So this was the gossiping barn-stormer, the disso 
 lute actor. Will Shakespeare it was with whom her 
 Guy had spent the evening ! Phoebe Wise could but 
 capitulate, and Mary Burton took for a time triumph 
 ant possession of the heart that was Guy Fenton's. 
 
 "Have the players left the Peacock?" she asked, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Nay, mistress, know you not that they play to 
 night at the home of Sir William Percy?" 
 
 "Then they are here, at the inn, boy?" 
 261
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "A saw him that played the Jew i' the garden not 
 a half hour since. He's wont to wander there and 
 mutter the words of the play. I'll warrant him there 
 now, mistress." 
 
 Here, indeed, was good fortune ! Shakespeare was 
 in the garden. He should tell her where to find Guy 
 that she might warn him. Quickly she turned away 
 and hurried out of the yard and around the north L, 
 beyond which was the garden, laid out with ancient 
 hedges and long beds of old-fashioned flowers. 
 
 Now this same garden was the chief pride of the 
 neighborhood, the more especially that gardens were 
 but seldom found attached to inns in those days. 
 Here there had been a partly successful attempt to 
 imitate Italian landscape gardening; but the elabo 
 rately arranged paths, beds, and parterres, with their 
 white statues and fountains, lost their effectiveness 
 closed in as they were by high walls of vine-covered 
 brick. It was rumored that once a stately peacock 
 had here once flaunted his gorgeous plumage, giving 
 his name to the inn itself but this legend rested 
 upon little real evidence. 
 
 When Phrebe reached the entrance to the main 
 walk she stopped and looked anxiously about her. 
 Nowhere could she see or hear anyone. Sadly disap 
 pointed, she moved slowly forward, glancing quickly 
 to right and left, still hoping that he whom she sought 
 had not utterly departed. 
 
 She reached a small stone basin surmounted by a 
 statue of Plenty, whose inverted horn suggested a 
 
 262
 
 HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 
 
 copious stream long since choked up. Behind the 
 fountain there was a stone bench with a high back. 
 Peeping behind this, Phoebe found that a second seat 
 was placed beyond the back, inviting a seclusion 
 whose expected purpose was distinctly suggested by 
 a sly little Cupid on a pedestal, holding one forefinger 
 to his smiling lips. 
 
 At this moment Phoebe was conscious of a distant 
 mumbling to her left, and, glancing quickly in that 
 direction, she saw a plainly dressed, bareheaded man 
 of medium height just turning into the main walk 
 out of a by-path, where he had been hidden from 
 view by a thick hedge of privet. His eyes were 
 turned upon some slips of paper which he held in 
 one hand. 
 
 Could this be he? Shakespeare! The immortal 
 Prince of Poets ! 
 
 To Mary Burton, the approach of a mere player 
 would have given little concern. But Phoebe Wise, 
 better knowing his unrivalled rank, was seized with 
 a violent attack of diffidence, and in an instant she 
 dodged behind the stone seat and sat in hiding with 
 a beating heart. 
 
 The steps of the new-comer slowly approached. 
 Phoebe knew not whether pleasure or a painful fear 
 were stronger within her. Here was indeed the cul 
 mination of her strange adventure ! There, beyond 
 the stone which mercifully concealed her, He was 
 approaching the wondrous Master Mind of litera 
 ture. 
 
 263
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Would lie go by unheeding? Could she let him 
 pass on without one glance one word? And yet, 
 how address him? How dare to show her face? 
 
 The slow steps ceased and at the same time he 
 fell silent. She could picture him gazing with un 
 conscious eyes at the fountain while within he lis 
 tened to the Genius that prompted his majestic 
 works. Again the gravel creaked, and then she knew 
 that he had seated himself on the other bench. The 
 two were sitting back to back with only a stone par 
 tition between them. 
 
 To her own surprise, the diffidence which had op 
 pressed her seemed now to be gradually passing off. 
 She still realized the privilege she enjoyed in thus 
 sharing his seat, but perhaps Mary Burton was gain 
 ing her head as well as her heart, for she positively 
 began to think of leaving her concealment, contem 
 plating almost unmoved a meeting with her demi 
 god. 
 
 Then he spoke. 
 
 "The infant first then the school-boy," he mut 
 tered. "So far good ! The third age m m m " 
 There was a pause before he proceeded, slowly and 
 distinctly: 
 
 " Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 
 Sighing his heart out in a woful ballad 
 
 m m m Ah ! 
 
 Made to his mistress' eyebrow." 
 264
 
 HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 
 
 He chuckled audibly a moment, and then, speaking 
 a little louder: 
 
 "Fenton to the life, poor lad!" he said. 
 
 Phoebe sat up very straight with a startled move 
 ment. Oh, to think of it! That she should have 
 forgotten Sir Guy! To have sought Will Shake 
 speare for the sole purpose of tracing her threatened 
 lover and then to forget him for a simple name 
 a mere celebrity ! 
 
 Unconscious of the small inward drama so near 
 at hand, the playwright proceeded with his compo 
 sition. 
 
 " 'Sighing his heart out,' " he mused. "Nay, that 
 were too strong a touch for Jacques. Lighter 
 lighter." Then, after a moment of thought: "Ay 
 ay !" he chuckled. " 'Sighing like furnace' poor 
 Fenton ! How like a very furnace in his dolor ! Yet 
 did he justice to the Canary. So so! To go back 
 now: 
 
 " Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 
 Sighing like furnace with a woful ballad 
 Made to his mistress' eyebrow. " 
 
 'Twill pass, in sooth, 'twill pass!" 
 
 Lightly Phoebe climbed onto the bench and peeped 
 over the back. She looked down sidewise upon the 
 author, who was writing rapidly in an illegible hand 
 upon one of his paper slips. 
 
 There was the head so familiar to us all the 
 domelike brow, the long hair hanging over the ears. 
 
 265
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 This she could see, but of his face only the outline 
 of his left cheek was visible. Strange and unex 
 pected to herself was the light-hearted calm with 
 which, now that she really saw him, she could con 
 template the great poet. 
 
 He ceased writing and leaned against the back, 
 gazing straight ahead. 
 
 "The third age past, what then? Why the soldier, 
 i' faith the soldier " 
 
 " Full of strange oaths " 
 
 came a mischievous whisper from an invisible 
 source 
 
 " and bearded like the pard. 
 Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
 Seeking the bubble reputation 
 Even in the cannon's mouth." 
 
 For a moment the poet sat as though paralyzed 
 with astonishment. Then rising, he turned and faced 
 the daring girl. 
 
 Now she saw the face so well remembered and yet 
 how little known before. Kound it was and smooth, 
 save for the small, well-trimmed mustache above the 
 beautifully moulded mouth and chin sensitive yet 
 firm. But above all, the splendid eyes! Eyes of 
 uncertain color that seemed to Phoebe mirrors of 
 universal life, yet just now full of a perplexed ad 
 miration. 
 
 For she was herself the centre of a picture well 
 266
 
 HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 
 
 fitted to arrest a poet's attention. Her merry face 
 was peering over the smooth white stone, with four 
 pink finger-tips on each side clinging for greater se 
 curity. Behind her a cherry-tree was dropping its 
 snowy blossoms, and two or three had fallen un 
 heeded upon her wavy brown hair, making a charm 
 ing frame for the young eyes and tender lips whose 
 smiling harmony seemed to sing with arrant roguish- 
 ness. 
 
 With a trilling laugh, half-suppressed, she spoke 
 at last. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts, Master Shakespeare !" 
 she said. 
 
 The mood of the astonished player had quickly 
 yielded to the girl's compelling smile, and his fine 
 lips opened upon a firm line of teeth. 
 
 " 'Show me first your penny,' " he quoted. 
 
 "I'll owe you it." 
 
 He laughed and shook his head. 
 
 "That would I not my thoughts, damsel." 
 
 "Pay them, then. Pay straightway!" she pouted, 
 "and see the account be fair." 
 
 "Nay, then," he replied, bowing half-mockingly, 
 "an the accountant be so passing fair, must not the 
 account suffer in the comparison?" 
 
 The face disappeared for a moment, and then 
 Phrebe emerged from behind the stone rampart, 
 dusting her hands off daintily one against the 
 other. 
 
 "Did not your wit exceed your gallantry, sir," she 
 267
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 said, courtesying slightly, "I had had my answer 
 sooner." 
 
 Shakespeare was somewhat taken aback to see a 
 developed young woman, evidently of gentle birth, 
 where he had thought to find the mere prank-loving 
 child of some neighboring cottager. Instantly his 
 manner changed. Bowing courteously, he stepped 
 forward and began in a deferential voice: 
 
 "Kay, then, fair mistress, an I had known " 
 
 "Tut tut!" she interrupted, astonished at her own 
 boldness. "You thought me a chit, sir. Let it pass. 
 Pray what think you of my lines?" 
 
 "They seemed the whisper of a present muse," he 
 said, gayly, but with conviction in his voice. " 'Twas 
 in the very mood of Jacques, my lady a melancholy 
 fellow by profession 
 
 "Holding that light which another might presently 
 approve" she broke in "and praise bestowing on 
 ill deserts in the mere wantonness of a cynic wit! 
 What! doth the cap fit?" 
 
 The amazement in her companion's face was irre 
 sistible, and Phoebe burst forth into a spontaneous 
 laugh of purest merriment. 
 
 " 'A hit a hit a very palpable hit !' " she quoted, 
 clapping her hands in her glee. 
 
 "Were not witches an eldritch race," said Shake 
 speare, "you, mistress, might well lie under grave 
 suspicion." 
 
 "What what! Do I not fit the wizened stamp 
 of Macbeth's sisters three?" 
 
 268
 
 HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 
 
 Shakespeare flung out his arms with a gesture of 
 despair. 
 
 "Yet more and deeper mystery!" he cried. "My 
 half-formed plots half-finished scraps the clear 
 analysis of souls whose only life is here!" he tapped 
 his forehead. "Say, good lady, has Will Shakespeare 
 spoken, perchance, in sleep yet e'en so, how 
 could " 
 
 He broke off and coming to her side, spoke ear 
 nestly in lowered tones. 
 
 "Tell me. Have you the fabled power to read the 
 soul? Naught else explains your speech." 
 
 "Tell me, sir, first the truth," said Phrebe. "In all 
 sadness, Master Shakespeare, have you had aught 
 from Francis Bacon? I mean by way of aid in writ 
 ing or e'en of mere suggestion?" 
 
 "Bacon Francis Bacon," said he, evidently at a 
 loss. "There was one Nicholas Bacon " 
 
 "Nay, 'tis of his son I speak." 
 
 "Then, in good sooth, I can but answer 'No,' mis 
 tress; since that I knew not even that this Nicholas 
 had a son." 
 
 Phoebe heaved a sigh of relief and then went on 
 with a partial return of her former spirit. 
 
 "Then all's well!" she exclaimed. "I am a muse 
 well pleased; and now, an you will, Pll teach you 
 straight more verses for your play." 
 
 "As you like it," said Shakespeare, bowing, half- 
 amused and wholly mystified. 
 
 "Good!" she retorted, brightly. " ' As You Like 
 269
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 It' shall you name the piece, that henceforth this our 
 conversation you may bear in mind." 
 
 Smiling, he took up his papers and wrote across 
 the top of one of them "As You Like It" in large 
 characters. 
 
 "Now write as I shall bid you," Phoebe said. 
 "Pray be seated, good my pupil, come." 
 
 Then, seated there by Phoebe's side, the poet com 
 mitted to paper the whole of Jacques's speech on "The 
 Seven Ages," just as Phoebe spoke it from her mem 
 ory of the Shakespeare club at home. 
 
 When he ceased scribbling, he leaned forward with 
 elbows on his knees and ran his eyes slowly and won- 
 deringly over each line in turn, whispering the 
 words destined to become so famous. Phoebe leaned 
 a little away from her companion, resting one hand 
 on the bench, while she watched his face with a smile 
 that slowly melted to the mood of dreamy meditation. 
 They sat thus alone in silence for some time, so still 
 that a wren, alighting on the path, hopped pecking 
 among the stones at their very feet. 
 
 At length the poet, without other change in posi 
 tion, turned his head and looked searchingly and 
 seriously into the young girl's eyes. What amazing 
 quality was it that stamped its impress upon the 
 maiden's face a something he had never seen or 
 dreamed of? Even a Shakespeare could give no 
 name to that spirit of the future out of which she 
 had come. 
 
 "Is it then true?" he said, in an undertone. "Doth 
 270
 
 HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 
 
 the muse live ? Not a mere prompting inward sense, 
 but in bodily semblance visiting the poet's eye? Or 
 art thou a creature of Fancy's colors blended, feign 
 ing reality?" 
 
 Never before had the glamour of her situation so 
 penetrated her to whom these words were addressed. 
 She was choked by an irrepressible sob that was half 
 a laugh, and a film of moisture obscured her vision. 
 With a sudden movement, she seized the poet's hand 
 and pressed it to her lips. Then, half-ashamed, she 
 rose and turned away to toy with the foliage of a 
 shrub that stood beside the path. 
 
 "Nay, then!" Shakespeare cried, with something 
 like relief in his voice, "you are no insubstantial spirit, 
 damsel. Yet would I fain more clearly comprehend 
 thee!" 
 
 There was a minute's pause ere Phoebe turned 
 toward the speaker, that spirit of mischief dancing 
 again in her eyes and on her lips. 
 
 "I am Mary Burton, of Burton Hall," she 
 said. 
 
 "Oh !" he exclaimed. And then again : "Oh !" with 
 much of understanding and something of disappoint 
 ment. 
 
 "Is all clear now?" she asked, roguishly. 
 
 Shakespeare rose, and, shaking one finger playfully 
 at her, he said: 
 
 "Most clear is this that Sir Guy knows well to 
 choose in love; although, an I read you aright, my 
 Mistress Mockery, his wife is like to prove passing 
 
 271
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 mettlesome. For the rest, your lover knows poor 
 Will Shakespeare's secrets his Macbeth and half- 
 written Hamlet. 'Tis with these you have made so 
 bold to-day! My muse, in sooth! Oh, fie fie!" 
 And he shook his head, laughing. 
 
 "Indeed! In very sooth!" said Phoebe, with merry 
 sarcasm. "And was it, then, Guy who brought me 
 these same lines of Jacques the melancholy?" And 
 she pointed to the papers in his hand. 
 
 "Nay, there I grant you," said the poet, shaking 
 his head, while the puzzled expression crept once 
 more into his face. 
 
 "Ay, there, and in more than this!" Phoebe ex 
 claimed. "You have spoken of Hamlet, Master 
 Shakespeare. Guy hath told me something of that 
 tragedy. This Prince of Denmark is a most un 
 happy wight, if I mistake not. Doth he not once 
 turn to thought of self-murder?" 
 
 "Ay, mistress. I have given Sir Guy my thoughts 
 on the theme of Hamlet, and have told him I planned 
 a speech wherein should be made patent Hamlet's 
 desperate weariness of life, sickened by brooding on 
 his mother's infamy." 
 
 " 'To be or not to be, that is the question,' " quoted 
 Phoebe. "Kuns it not so?" 
 
 "This passes!" cried Shakespeare, once more all 
 amazement. "I told not this to your friend!" 
 
 "Nor did I from Guy receive it," said Phoebe. 
 "Tell me, Master Shakespeare, have you yet brought 
 that speech to its term?" 
 
 272
 
 HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 
 
 "No," he replied, "nor have I found the task an 
 easy one. Much have I written, but 'tis all too 
 slight. Can you complete these lines, think you?" 
 
 "My life upon it!" she cried, eagerly. 
 
 He shook his head, smiling incredulously. 
 
 "You scarce know what you promise," he said. 
 "Can one so young a damsel, too sound to its bit 
 ter deeps the soul of Hamlet !" 
 
 "Think you so?" Phoebe replied, her eyes sparkling. 
 "Then what say you to a bargain, Master Shake 
 speare? You know where Sir Guy Fenton may be 
 found?" 
 
 "Ay, right well! 'Tis a matter of one hour's ride." 
 
 "So I thought," she said. "Hear, then, mine offer. 
 I must perforce convey a message straight that 
 touches the life and honor of Sir Guy. To send my 
 servant were over-dangerous, for there may be 
 watchers on my going and coming. "Will "you go, 
 sir, without delay, if that I speak for you the miss 
 ing lines completing young Hamlet's soliloquy?" 
 
 Shakespeare looked into her face for a few mo 
 ments in silence. 
 
 "Why, truly," he said at last, "I have here present 
 business with my fellow-player Burbidge." He 
 paused, and then, yielding to the pleading in her 
 eyes: "Yet call it a bargain, mistress," he said. 
 "Speak me the lines I lack and straightway will I 
 take your word to Sir Guy." 
 
 "Now blessings on thee !" cried Phrebe. "Give me 
 straight the line you last have written." 
 
 273
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 At once the poet began: 
 
 "When he himself might his quietus make- 
 
 "With a bare bodkin" broke in the excited girl. 
 "Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat be 
 neath a weary life, but that the thought of something 
 after death the undiscovered country from whose 
 bourne no traveller returns puzzles the will, and 
 makes us rather bear the ills we have than fly to 
 others that we know not of. Thus conscience does 
 make cowards of us all, and so the native hue of 
 resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of 
 thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment 
 by this regard their currents turn awry and lose the 
 name of action." 
 
 "No more no more!" cried Shakespeare, in an 
 ecstasy. "More than completely hast thou made thy 
 bargain good, damsel unmatchable ! What ! Can it 
 be ! Why here have we the very impress of young 
 Hamlet's soul 'To grunt and sweat beneath a weary 
 life' feel you not there compunction and disgust, 
 seeing in life no cleanly burden, but a 'fardel' truly, 
 borne on the greasy shoulders of filthy slaves!" 
 
 He turned and paced back and forth upon the 
 gravel, repeating without mistake and with gestures 
 and accents inimitable the lines which Phoebe had 
 dictated. She watched him, listening attentively, 
 conscious that what she saw and heard, though given 
 in a moment, were to be carried with her forever; 
 convinced as well that she was for something in this, 
 and thankful while half afraid. 
 
 274
 
 HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 
 
 Reaching the end of the soliloquy, Shakespeare 
 turned to the maiden, who was still standing, backed 
 by the warm color of a group of peonies. 
 
 "N~ay, but tell me, damsel," he cried, appealingly. 
 "Explain this power! Art thou, indeed, no other 
 than Mary Burton?" 
 
 How refuse this request? And yet what explan 
 ation would be believed? Perhaps, if she had time, 
 she thought, some intelligible account of the truth 
 would occur to her. 
 
 "And have you forgot your bargain so soon?" she 
 said, reproachfully shaking her head. "Away, friend, 
 away! Indeed, the matter is urgent and grave. If, 
 when you return, you will ask for Mary Burton, 
 knowing your task fulfilled, she may make clear for 
 you what now must rest in mystery." 
 
 "You say well," he replied. "Give me your mes 
 sage, and count fully on Will Shakespeare to carry 
 it with all despatch and secrecy." 
 
 Phoebe's face grew grave as she thought of all that 
 depended on her messenger. She stepped closer to 
 her companion and glanced to right and left to make 
 sure they were still alone. Then, drawing from her 
 finger a plain gold ring, she offered it to her com 
 panion, who took it as she spoke. 
 
 "If you will show this to Sir Guy," she said, "he 
 will know that the case is serious. It beareth writing 
 within the circle 'Sois fidele' do you see?" 
 
 "Be faithful ay." 
 
 " 'Twill be an admonition for you both," said 
 275
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Phoebe, with a faint smile. "Tell him to be in the 
 lane behind the Peacock garden at sunset to-morrow 
 even with two good horses, one for himself and one 
 for me. Tell him to come alone and to travel by 
 back ways. Bid him in my name in God's name 
 lie close till then, trusting in me that there is need. 
 Tell him to obey now, that later he may have the 
 right to command." 
 
 "Good!" said Shakespeare. "And now good-by 
 until we meet again." 
 
 A parting pressure of the hand, and he turned to 
 go to the stables. She stood by the fountain musing, 
 her eyes fixed on the entrance gate of the garden 
 until at length a horseman galloped past. He rose 
 in his stirrups and waved his hand. She ran forward, 
 swept by a sudden dread of his loss, waving her hands 
 in a passionate adieu. 
 
 When she reached the gate no one was in sight. 
 
 276
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 
 
 On Rebecca's arrival with the royal attendants at 
 Greenwich Palace, the Queen had ordered that she 
 be given a splendid suite of apartments for her own 
 use, and that she be constantly attended by a number 
 of young gentlewomen assigned to her establishment. 
 The news soon spread through the palace that an 
 American princess or empress had arrived, and she 
 was treated in every way on the footing of a sort of 
 inferior royalty. Elizabeth invited her to share 
 every meal with her, and took delight in her ac 
 counts of the manners and customs of the American 
 aborigines. 
 
 As for Rebecca, she finally yielded to the con 
 viction that Elizabeth was not Victoria, and found 
 it expedient to study her companions with a view to 
 avoiding gross breaches of etiquette. Of these, the 
 first which she corrected was addressing Elizabeth as 
 "Mrs. Tudor." 
 
 In twenty-four hours the shrewd and resourceful 
 New England woman was able to learn many things, 
 and she rapidly found her bearings among the strange 
 
 277
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 people and stranger institutions by which she was 
 surrounded. 
 
 Seated in her own "presence chamber," as she 
 called it, surrounded by her civil and assiduous at 
 tendants, she discovered a charm in being constantly 
 taken care of which was heightened by the contrast 
 which it presented with her usually independent 
 habits of life. The pleasing effect of novelty had 
 never more strongly impressed her. 
 
 Her anxiety in Phoebe's behalf had been dispelled 
 when she learned that Isaac Burton was expected at 
 the palace, and was to bring his family with him. 
 With diplomatic shrewdness, she resolved to improve 
 every opportunity to win the Queen's favor, in order 
 that when the time came she might have the benefit 
 of her authority in removing her younger sister from 
 her pretended relatives. 
 
 It was about five in the afternoon of the day suc 
 ceeding her adventure on the Thames, and Rebecca 
 sat near a window overlooking the entrance court. 
 She was completing the knitting upon which she had 
 been engaged when Droop made his first memorable 
 call on her in Peltonville. 
 
 On either side of Rebecca, but on stools set some 
 what lower than her chair, were her two favorites, 
 the Lady Clarissa Bray, daughter of Walter Bray, 
 Lord Hunsforth, and the Honorable Lady Margaret 
 Welsh, daughter of the Earl of March. 
 
 Clarissa was employed in embroidering a stom 
 acher whose green, gold, and russet set off her dark 
 
 278
 
 HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 
 
 curls very agreeably. The Lady Margaret was play 
 ing a soft Italian air upon the cithern, which she 
 managed with excellent taste, to the entertainment 
 of her temporary mistress and her half dozen at 
 tendants. 
 
 Rebecca's needles moved in time with the graceful 
 measure of the music, while her head nodded in uni 
 son, and she smiled now and then. 
 
 As the air was concluded she let her hands sink 
 for a moment into her lap, turning to bend an approv 
 ing look upon the fair young musician. 
 
 "There, now!" she said. "I declare, Miss Mar 
 garet, that's real sweet music. I'm much obliged to 
 ye, I'm sure." 
 
 Margaret arose and courtesied, blushing. 
 
 "Would your Highness that I play again?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "No, thank ye," said Rebecca, resuming her knit 
 ting. "The's no sort o' use in drivin' folks to death 
 as are kind to ye. Sit right down an' rest now, an' 
 I'll tell ye all a story thet hez a bearin' right on that 
 point." 
 
 She turned to the four maids of honor seated be 
 hind her. 
 
 "Now you girls can jest 's well come an' set in 
 front o' me while I'm talkin'. I'll like it a heap 
 better, I'm sure." 
 
 With great diffidence on the part of her attendants, 
 and after much coaxing on Rebecca's part, this change 
 was accomplished. The idea of being seated in the 
 
 279
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 presence of royalty was in itself quite distasteful to 
 these young courtiers, but upon this Rebecca had 
 insisted from the first. It made her feel tired, she 
 said, to see people standing continually on their feet. 
 
 "Well," she began, when all were disposed to their 
 satisfaction, "it all happened in my country, ye know. 
 'Twas 'bout ten years ago now, I guess or rather 
 then I mean it will be " 
 
 Clarissa's wondering eyes caught the speaker's at 
 tention and she coughed. 
 
 "Never mind when 'twas," she went on. "Ye see, 
 things are very different here time as well 's the 
 rest. However, 'long 'bout then, my cousin Ann 
 Slocum took a notion to 'nvite me down to Keene 
 fer a little visit. Phoebe thet's my sister she said 
 I could go jest 's well 's not, an' so I went. The fust 
 night I was there, when dinner was over, of course 
 I offered to wash up the dishes, seein' 
 
 An involuntary and unanimous gasp of amazement 
 from her fair auditors cut Rebecca short at this point. 
 
 "Well," she said, a little anxiously, "what's the 
 matter? Anythin' wrong?" 
 
 The Lady Clarissa ventured to voice the general 
 sentiment. 
 
 "Did we hear aright, your Highness?" she asked. 
 "Said you 'wash up the dishes'?" 
 
 "Oh!" said Rebecca, conscious for the first time of 
 her slip, "did that puzzle ye?" 
 
 "Do queens and princesses perform menial offices 
 in America?" asked the Honorable Lady Margaret. 
 
 280
 
 HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 
 
 Short as was the time allowed, it had sufficed for 
 Rebecca to compose a form of words which should 
 not wound her conscience by direct falsehood, while 
 not undeceiving her hearers as to her rank. 
 
 "Why, to tell ye the truth," she said, in a semi- 
 confidential manner, "all the queens and princesses 
 there are in America wash the dishes after dinner." 
 
 There was some whispering among the girls at this, 
 and Rebecca's ears caught the expressions "passing 
 strange" and "most wonderful" more than once. 
 
 She waited until the first excitement thus produced 
 had subsided and then proceeded. 
 
 "Of course Cousin Ann hadn't no objection, an' 
 so I went into the kitchen. When we got through, 
 blest ef she didn't ask me to wash out the dish-towels 
 while she filled the lamps! Now " 
 
 The growing amazement in the round, open eyes 
 and shaking curls of her audience brought Rebecca 
 once more to a standstill. Evidently some further 
 explanation of this unwonted state of things would 
 be expected. To gain time for further invention, 
 Rebecca rose and carried her knitting to the window 
 as though to pick up a stitch. Mechanically she 
 glanced down into the court-yard, where there was 
 now a large assemblage, and uttered an exclamation 
 of astonishment. 
 
 "Gracious alive!" she cried. "If there ain't a bi 
 cycle! Well, well, don't that look nat'ral, now! 
 Makes me feel homesick." 
 
 She turned to her companions, each of whom was 
 281
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 ceremoniously standing, but all showing clearly in 
 their faces the curiosity which consumed them. 
 
 "Come 'long!" said Rebecca, smiling. "Come one 
 and all ! I'm blest ef ye don't make me think of Si 
 Fray's dog waitin' to be whistled fer when Si goes 
 out to walk." 
 
 The obedience to this summons was prompt and 
 willing, and Rebecca turned again to observe those 
 who came with the mysterious bicycle. 
 
 "Land o' sunshine!" she exclaimed, "did ye ever 
 see sech a fat man as that! Do any of you girls 
 know who 'tis?" 
 
 " 'Tis Sir Percevall Hart, harbinger to the Queen, 
 I ween," Clarissa replied. 
 
 "Gracious!" said Rebecca, anxiously. "I do hope 
 now he ain't bringin' any very bad news!" 
 
 "Wherefore should he, your Highness?" said Cla 
 rissa. 
 
 "Why, if he's a harbinger of woe ain't that what 
 they call 'em?" she spoke, with some timidity. 
 
 "Nay," said the Lady Margaret. "Sir Percevall 
 is reputed a wit and a pleasant companion, your 
 Highness. He is harbinger to the Queen." 
 
 "An' who's the man with him in black togs an' 
 rumpled stockin's?" said Rebecca. "The one holdin' 
 the bicycle?" 
 
 "Mean you him holding the two bright wheels, 
 your Highness?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Lady Margaret could not answer, nor could any 
 282
 
 HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 
 
 of the other attendants. Could Rebecca have had 
 a more advantageous view of the stranger, she would 
 herself have been the only one in the palace to rec 
 ognize him. She could only see his hat and his 
 borrowed clothes, however, and her curiosity re 
 mained unsatisfied. 
 
 "That looks like Copernicus Droop's wheel," she 
 muttered. "I wonder ef somebody's ben an' stole 
 it while he was away. 'Twould serve him right fer 
 givin' me the slip." 
 
 Then turning to Lady Margaret again, she con 
 tinued : 
 
 "Would you mind runnin' down to ask who that 
 man is, Miss Margaret? Seems to me I know that 
 bicycle." 
 
 Courtesying in silence, the maid backed out of the 
 room and hurried down the stairs quite afire with the 
 eagerness of her curiosity. This strange, bright- 
 wheeled thing to which the American princess so 
 easily applied a name, could only be some wonderful 
 product of the New World. She was overjoyed at 
 the thought that she was to be the first to closely 
 examine and perhaps to touch this curiosity. 
 
 Her plans were delayed, however, for when she 
 reached the court-yard she found herself restrained 
 by a row of men with halberds, one of whom in 
 formed her that her Majesty was returning from 
 chapel. 
 
 The Queen and her retinue were obliged to pass 
 across the courtyard on the way to the apartment 
 
 283
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 where Elizabeth was to take her evening meal. Her 
 progress at such times was magnificently accompa 
 nied, and was often much delayed by her stopping 
 to notice her favorites as she passed them, and even 
 at times to receive petitions. 
 
 Copernicus, who, as we have seen, had just arrived, 
 was inclined to bewail the interruption caused by this 
 procession, but his companion insisted that, on the 
 contrary, all was for the best. 
 
 "Why, man," said he, "Dame Fortune hath us in 
 her good books for a surety. What ! Could we have 
 planned all better had we willed it? To meet the 
 Queen in progress from chapel ! 'Twill go hard but 
 Sir Percevall shall win his suit and you, Master 
 Droop, your monopolies. Mark me now mark me 
 well!" 
 
 So saying, the fat knight advanced and joined one 
 of the long lines of courtiers already forming a hedge 
 on each side of the direct way which the Queen was 
 to traverse. Droop, leaning his bicycle against the 
 palace wall and taking in his hands his phonograph 
 and box of cylinders, placed himself behind his 
 guide and watched the proceedings with eager cu 
 riosity. 
 
 A door opened at one end of the lane between the 
 two courtiers and there appeared the first of a long 
 procession of splendidly apparelled gentlemen-in- 
 waiting, walking bareheaded two by two. Of these, 
 the first were simple untitled knights and gentlemen. 
 These were followed by barons, then earls, and lastly 
 
 284
 
 HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 
 
 knights of the garter, each gentleman vying with 
 the others in richness of apparel and lavish display 
 of collars, orders, jewelled scabbards, and heavy 
 chains of gold. 
 
 Behind these there came three abreast. These 
 were the Lord High Chancellor, in wig and robes, 
 carrying the Great Seal of England in a red silk bag. 
 On his right walked a gentleman carrying the golden 
 sceptre, jewelled and quaintly worked, while he on 
 the left carried the sword of state, point up, in a red 
 scabbard, studded with golden fleur-de-lis. 
 
 A few steps behind this imposing escort came the 
 Queen, with a small but richly covered prayer-book 
 in her hand. She looked very majestic on this occa 
 sion, being dressed in white silk bordered with pearls 
 of the size of beans, over which was thrown a mantle 
 of black silk shot with silver threads. An oblong 
 collar of jewelled gold lay upon her otherwise bare 
 bosom. 
 
 The Queen's train was very long and was carried 
 by a marchioness, whose plain attire set off the mag 
 nificence of royalty. 
 
 As Elizabeth proceeded across the yard, she spoke 
 to one by-stander or another, and Droop, looking on, 
 made up his mind that the rule was that anyone to 
 whom she addressed a word, or even a look, should 
 drop forthwith to his knees and so remain until she 
 had passed, unless she pleased to extend her hand 
 to raise him up. 
 
 On each side of this main procession there was a 
 285
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 single file of five and twenty gentlemen pensioners, 
 each carrying a gilt battle-axe. 
 
 The remainder of the procession consisted of a 
 train of court ladies all dressed in white and nearly 
 destitute of ornaments. Evidently the Royal Virgin 
 would suffer no rivalry in dress from those of her 
 own sex. 
 
 Just behind Elizabeth and to one side, in such a 
 position as to be within easy reach for consultation, 
 walked the Lord High Treasurer, William Cecil, 
 Baron of Burleigh. It was to this nobleman that 
 his nephew, Erancis Bacon, had addressed the letter 
 which he had given to Copernicus Droop. 
 
 By dint of much squeezing and pushing, Sir Perce- 
 vall made his way to the front of the waiting line, 
 and, as Elizabeth approached, he dropped painfully 
 to his knees, and, with hat in hand, gazed earnestly 
 into the Queen's face, not daring to speak first, but 
 with a petition writ large in every feature. 
 
 Now, Elizabeth was most jealous of her dignity, 
 and valued her own favors very highly. In her eyes 
 it was downright impertinence at a time like this 
 for anyone to solicit the honor of her attention by 
 kneeling before he was noticed. 
 
 Knowing this, Burleigh, who recognized the 
 knight and wished him well, motioned to him ear 
 nestly to rise. Alarmed, Sir Percevall made a des 
 perate effort to obey the hint, and, despite his huge 
 bulk, would perhaps have succeeded in regaining his 
 feet without attracting the notice of the Queen but 
 
 286
 
 HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 
 
 for the impatient movement of the crowd behind 
 him. Unfortunately, however, he had but half risen 
 when the bustling multitude moved forward a little 
 against his expansive rear. The result was disas 
 trous. 
 
 Sir Percevall lost his balance, and, feeling himself 
 toppling, threw his hands out forward with a cry and 
 fell flat on his face. 
 
 Elizabeth was at this moment addressing a few 
 gracious words to a white-haired courtier, who 
 kneeled among those gathered on the right of her 
 line of progress. Startled by the loud cry of the 
 falling knight, she turned swiftly and saw at her 
 feet a man of monstrous girth struggling in vain 
 to raise his unwieldy form. His plumed hat had 
 rolled to some distance, exposing a bald head with 
 two gray tufts over the ears. His sword stood on 
 its hilt, with point in air, and his short, fat legs made 
 quick alternate efforts to bend beneath him efforts 
 which the fleshy knees successfully resisted. 
 
 The helpless, jerking limbs, the broad, rolling 
 body, and the mixture of expletives and frantic apol 
 ogies poured forth by the prostrate knight turned the 
 Queen's first ready alarm to irrepressible laughter, 
 in which the by-standers joined to their great relief. 
 Droop alone was grave, for he could only see in this 
 accident the ruin of his plans. 
 
 "Tow, by the rood!" cried the Queen, as soon as 
 she could speak distinctly, "fain would we see your 
 face, good gentleman. Of all our subjects, not one 
 
 287
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 doth us such low obeisance!" Then, beckoning to 
 those of her gentleman pensioners who stood nearest : 
 
 "Kaise us yon mighty subject of ours, whose great 
 ness we might in our majesty brook but ill did not 
 his humble bearing proclaim a loyal submission." 
 
 Four gentlemen, dropping their gilt axes, hastened 
 to Sir Percevall's aid, raising him by the arms and 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Enough enough, lads!" cried the knight, when 
 they had got him to his knees. "Let it not be said 
 that Sir Percevall Hart dared to tempt erect the 
 dreadful glance of majesty. Here let him lowly 
 bend beneath the eyes that erstwhile laid him low." 
 
 Still holding him, the four gentlemen turned their 
 eyes to the Queen for orders, and Sir Percevall, 
 clasping his mud-stained hands, addressed himself 
 directly to Elizabeth, in whose still laughing face he 
 foresaw success. 
 
 "O Majesty of England!" he cried. "Marvel not 
 at this my sudden fall for when, with more than 
 royal glory is linked the potency of virgin loveliness, 
 who can withstand!" 
 
 "Why, how now, Sir Knight !" said Elizabeth, ban- 
 teringly. "Are we less lovely or less awful now than 
 a moment since? You seem at least one half re 
 stored." 
 
 "Nay, your Majesty," was the reply. " 'Tis his 
 sovereign's will and high command that stiffens poor 
 Percy's limbs, and in obedience only that he finds 
 strength to present his suit." 
 
 288
 
 HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 
 
 "A suit!" she exclaimed. "Pride cometh before 
 a fall, 'tis said. Then, in sooth, by the rule of con 
 traries, a fall should presage humility's reward. 
 "What says my Lord Baron?" 
 
 She turned to Burleigh, who smiled and, bowing, 
 replied: 
 
 "So witty a flight to so sound a conclusion Cecil 
 could not have winged alone, but where majesty 
 teacheth wisdom, who shall refuse it!" 
 
 " 'Tis well!" said Elizabeth, more soberly. "Eise, 
 Sir Knight, and, when that we have supped, seek 
 audience again. An the petition be in reason, 'twill 
 not suffer for the fall you have had." 
 
 With this speech, Sir Percevall's first audience 
 ended, and it was with a happy face that he suffered 
 himself to be helped to his feet by the four gentle 
 men who had first been sent to his aid. 
 
 As the Queen resumed her progress and entered 
 the apartments wherein she was to prepare for her 
 evening meal, there resounded through the palace 
 the ringing notes of trumpets and the musical boom 
 ing of a kettle-drum. 
 
 In a large antechamber immediately outside of the 
 room where the Queen was to sup there was placed 
 a splendidly carved table of black oak, and here were 
 made all the preparations for her repast, accompanied 
 by the usual ceremonies. 
 
 Moving to the sound of trumpets and drum, two 
 gentlemen entered the room, the first bearing a rod 
 and the second a table-cloth. Advancing one behind 
 
 289
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 the other, they kneeled three times between the door 
 and table, apparently expressing the deepest venera 
 tion. Having spread the table, they retired back 
 ward, not forgetting to repeat the genuflections as 
 performed on their approach. 
 
 These first two were followed immediately by two 
 other gentlemen, the first with a rod and the other 
 carrying a salt-seller, plates, and bread. These arti 
 cles were carried to the table with the same cere 
 mony as had attended the spreading of the cloth. 
 
 Next there entered a young lady, whose coronet 
 indicated the rank of countess and whose uncovered 
 bosom proclaimed the unmarried state. She was ac 
 companied by a married lady of lower rank, carrying 
 a knife. The Countess rubbed the plates with bread 
 and salt, and then the two ladies stood awhile by the 
 table, awaiting the arrival of the supper. 
 
 Finally there entered, one at a time, twenty-four 
 yeomen of the guard, the tallest and handsomest 
 men in the royal service, bareheaded and clothed in 
 scarlet coats, with roses embroidered in gold thread 
 on their backs. Each yeoman carried a separate spe 
 cial dish intended for the royal repast, and, as each 
 approached the table, the lady with the knife cut off 
 and placed in his mouth a portion of the food which 
 he was carrying. After depositing their dishes upon 
 the table, the yeomen departed and the maids of 
 honor then approached and carried the dishes into 
 the inner room, where the Queen sat at her 
 supper. 
 
 290
 
 HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 
 
 Of all those who thus advanced to the table and 
 departed walking backward, none omitted the rever 
 ent kneelings, nor did anyone concerned in all this 
 ceremony speak a word until it was concluded. Al 
 though the Queen was actually absent, in fiction she 
 was present, and it was to this fiction that so much 
 reverence was paid. 
 
 Shortly after the commencement of these prepara 
 tions, Droop and his guide appeared among other 
 petitioners and other lookers-on around the door 
 ways. Copernicus carried his phonographic appara 
 tus, but the bicycle had been left in the court-yard 
 in the care of a man-at-arms. 
 
 "Jiminy!" said Droop, looking curiously about 
 him, "ain't this A No. 1, though! Et must be fun 
 to be a queen, eh, Percevall?" 
 
 "To speak truly, my lad," said the knight, "there 
 is something too much of bravery and pomp in the 
 accidents of royalty. What ! Can a king unbend 
 be merry a good fellow with his equals? No ! And 
 would you or I barter this freedom for a crown?" 
 He shook his head. "Which think you passed the 
 merrier night or the Queen (God's blessing on her) 
 or you and I?" 
 
 Droop paid little heed to his companion, for his 
 eyes were busy with the unwonted scene before him. 
 
 "Well, now!" he exclaimed. "Look there, Sir 
 Knight. See how the old lady digs out a piece o' 
 that pie and pokes it into that lord's mouth! He 
 must be mighty hungry! I'm darned ef I'd thought 
 
 291
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 they'd hev let him hev his grub before the Queen 
 and out of her own dish, too!" 
 
 "Nay, Brother Droop," said the Englishman, "this 
 custom hath its origin in the necessary precaution 
 of our sovereign. Who knows but that poison be in 
 this food ! Have not a score of scurvy plots been laid 
 against her life? 'Tis well to test what is meant for 
 the use of majesty." 
 
 Droop whistled low. 
 
 "Thet's the wrinkle, eh?" he said. "I don't guess 
 I'd be much tempted to take a job here as a taster, 
 then! Hello!" he said. "Why, they're takin' the 
 victuals out o' the room. What's that f er ? Did they 
 find p'ison in 'em?" 
 
 Sir Percevall did not reply. His attention had 
 been caught by the arrival of a strangely dressed 
 woman, apparently attended by six maids of honor. 
 
 Turning to a gentleman at his elbow: 
 
 "Can you tell me, sir," he said, "who is yonder 
 stranger in outlandish apparel?" 
 
 Following the speaker's eyes, the gentleman stared 
 for a few moments and then replied : 
 
 "Marry, sir, it can but be the American princess 
 with her retinue. They say that her Majesty much 
 affects this strange new-comer." 
 
 It was, indeed, Rebecca who, in response to an 
 invitation brought by a page in the Queen's livery, 
 was on the way to take supper with Elizabeth. On 
 her arrival at the anteroom door, an attendant went 
 in before the Queen to announce her presence; and, 
 
 292
 
 HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 
 
 while awaiting admission, Rebecca gazed about her 
 with a curiosity still unsatisfied. 
 
 "There, now," she was saying, " 'twas suttenly 
 too bad to send you off on a wild-goose chase, Miss 
 Margaret. Ef you could hev found the man, I'd hev 
 ben glad, though." 
 
 At that very moment, a voice close beside her 
 made her start violently. 
 
 "Well well! I declare! Rebecca Wise, how 
 do you do!" 
 
 She turned and saw him of whom she was at that 
 moment speaking, and lo ! to her amazement, it was 
 Copernicus Droop who held out his right hand. 
 
 "Copernicus Droop!" she gasped. Then, remem 
 bering her adventure of the previous day, she went 
 on coldly, without noticing the proffered hand: "Ye 
 seem right glad to see me now, Mr. Droop." 
 
 Droop was taken aback at her manner and at the 
 sarcastic emphasis laid upon the word "now." 
 
 "Why why of course," he stammered. "I 
 thought you was lost." 
 
 "Lost!" she cried, indignantly. "Lost! Why, you 
 know right well I chased you up one street and down 
 the other all the mornin' yesterday. You tried to 
 lose me, Mr. Droop and now you find me again, 
 you see. Oh, yes, you must be glad to see me !" 
 
 Droop was at first all astonishment at this accu 
 sation, but in a few moments he guessed the true 
 state of the case. Without delay he explained the 
 exchange of clothes, and had no difficulty in persuad- 
 
 293
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 ing Rebecca that it was Francis Bacon whom she 
 had pursued by mistake. 
 
 "Poor young man!" Rebecca exclaimed, in a low 
 voice of contrition. "Why, he must hev took me 
 fer a lunatic!" 
 
 Then she suddenly recollected her young attend 
 ants, and turned so as to bring them on one hand 
 and Droop on the other. 
 
 "Young ladies," she said, primly, "this here's Mr. 
 Copernicus Droop, from America." 
 
 With one accord the six girls dropped their eyes 
 and courtesied low. 
 
 "Mr. Droop," Rebecca continued, as she indicated 
 one of the girls after the other with her forefinger, 
 "make you acquainted with Miss Clarissa, Miss Mar 
 garet, Miss Maria, Miss Gertrude, Miss Evelina, and 
 Miss Dorothy. They've got sech tangled-up last 
 names, I declare I can't keep 'em in my head. Mr. 
 Droop's the same rank I am," she concluded, address 
 ing the girls. 
 
 Droop fidgeted and bowed six awkward bows with 
 eyes riveted to the ground. He had never been a 
 ladies' man, and this unexpected presentation was a 
 doubly trying ordeal. 
 
 There was a murmur of "your Highness" from the 
 courtesying young women which convinced the 
 abashed Yankee that he was being mocked, and this 
 impression was deepened by the ill-suppressed gig 
 gles occasioned by the sight of his sadly rumpled 
 hose. His confusion was complete. 
 
 294
 
 HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 
 
 "Now, tell me," said Rebecca, curiously, "what 
 ever brought you up here? Hev ye some errand 
 with the Queen?" 
 
 "Yes," said Droop. "My friend and me came up 
 here to get a patent. Say," he exclaimed, brighten 
 ing up with startling suddenness, "praps you know 
 the racket got the inside track, eh?" 
 
 "Inside track!" 
 
 "Yes. Don't you know the Patent Examiner 
 or Commissioner, or Lord High Thingummy that 
 runs the Patent Office here? I hate to bother the 
 Queen about sech things! Goodness knows, I'd 
 never ha' thought o' troublin' President McKinley 
 about patents!" 
 
 Rebecca shook her head. 
 
 "I'm blest ef I know the fust thing about it," she 
 declared. "Ef you take my advice, you'll not bother 
 Miss, Elizabeth 'bout your old patents." 
 
 At this moment the page returned. 
 
 "Her Majesty awaits your Royal Highness with 
 in," he said, bowing deeply. 
 
 Droop's jaws fell apart and his eyes opened wide. 
 
 "Royal Highness!" he murmured. 
 
 "Well, I've got to go now," said Rebecca, smiling 
 at her friend's astonishment. "But don't you go 'way 
 fer a while yet. I'll try an' get the Queen to let 
 you in soon. I want to talk with you 'bout lots of 
 things." 
 
 In a moment she was gone, leaving Copernicus 
 rooted to the floor and dumb with amazement. 
 
 295
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Someone touched his elbow and, turning, he saw 
 Sir Percevall, with the light of triumph on his fat 
 face. 
 
 "Fortune's smiles have turned to mere laughter, 
 my lad," he said, chuckling. "This American prin 
 cess hath the Queen's good-will. How the fiend's 
 name came you acquainted?" 
 
 296
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 In the inner chamber, Elizabeth was seated at a 
 small table, at the opposite end of which sat Rebecca. 
 Burleigh, Nottingham, and two or three other great 
 lords stood near at hand, while one dish after an 
 other was brought in from the outer room by maids 
 of honor. 
 
 Standing to the right of the Queen's chair was a 
 dark man of foreign aspect, wearing the robes of a 
 Doctor of Laws. In his hand was Rebecca's copy of 
 the New York World, which he was perusing with 
 an expression of the utmost perplexity. 
 
 "Well, Master Guido," said the Queen, "what 
 make you of it?" 
 
 "Maesta eccellentissima " the scholar began. 
 
 "Nay nay. Speak good plain English, man," 
 said the Queen. "The Lady Rebecca hath no Ital 
 ian." 
 
 Messer Guido bowed and began again, speaking 
 with a scarcely perceptible accent. 
 
 "Most Excellent Majesty, I have but begun perusal 
 of this document. It promiseth matter for ten good 
 
 297
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 years' research in the comparison of parts, interpre 
 tation of phrases, identifying customs, manners, 
 dress, and the like." 
 
 "Nay, then," said the Queen, "with the help of 
 the Lady Rebecca, 'twill be no weighty task, me- 
 thinks. My lady, why partake you not of the pasty?" 
 she said, turning to Rebecca. "Hath it not a very 
 proper savor?" 
 
 "My, yes," Rebecca replied; "it's mighty good pie! 
 Somehow, though, pie don't lay very good with me 
 these days. Ye don't happen to have any tea, do 
 ye?" 
 
 "Tea!" 
 
 "If I may venture " said Guido, eagerly. 
 
 "Speak, Messer Guido." 
 
 "Why, it would appear, your Majesty, that tea is 
 a sort of stuff for dresses silk, belike." 
 
 "Stuff for dresses!" said Rebecca. "Stuff and non 
 sense! Why, tea's a drink!" 
 
 "A beverage! Then how explain you this?" the 
 Italian cried, triumphantly. Lifting the newspaper, 
 he read from it the following passage : "The illustra 
 tion shows a charming tea-gown, a creation of Mme. 
 Decollete." 
 
 "You see, Maesta your Majesty it is clear. A 
 'tea-gown' is shown in the drawing a gown made 
 of tea." 
 
 Rebecca had opened her mouth to overwhelm the 
 poor savant with the truth when a page entered and 
 stood before the Queen. 
 
 298
 
 THE FATE OF SIR PERCEV ALL'S SUIT 
 
 "Well, sirrah," said Elizabeth, "what is your 
 message?" 
 
 "Sir Percevall Hart craves an audience, your 
 Majesty, for himself and his American friend and 
 client." 
 
 "Another American!" exclaimed the Queen. 
 
 "Copernicus Droop!" cried Rebecca. 
 
 "Know you Sir Percevall's friend, Lady Rebecca?" 
 asked Elizabeth. 
 
 "Why, yes, your Majesty. He and I came over 
 together from Peltonville. I believe he's after a 
 patent." 
 
 "A patent? What mean you? Doth he ask for 
 a patent of nobility a title? Can this be the s^iit 
 of the fat knight?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Rebecca. " 'Tain't nothin' 
 'bout nobility, I'm sure, though. It's a patent on a 
 phonograph, I b'lieve." 
 
 "Know you aught of this, my lord?" said Elizabeth, 
 turning to Burleigh. 
 
 "Why, yes, your Majesty. I have to-day received 
 from Sir Percevall Hart a letter written by my 
 nephew, Francis Bacon " 
 
 "Bacon! What! Ay methinks we know some 
 what of this same Francis," said the Queen, grimly. 
 "A member of Parliament, is he not?" 
 
 "Even so, your Majesty," said Burleigh, some 
 what crestfallen. "From this letter I learn," he con 
 tinued, while Elizabeth shook her head, "that this 
 
 American a Master Dupe, I believe " 
 
 299
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 no Droop!" cried Rebecca. "Copernicus 
 Droop." 
 
 The baron bowed. 
 
 "That this Master Droop desires the grant of a 
 monopoly in " 
 
 "A monopoly!" cried Elizabeth. "What! This 
 independent young barrister this parliamentary 
 meddler in opposition, forsooth! He craveth a mo 
 nopoly? God's death! A monopoly in all the impu 
 dence in this our realm is of a surety this fellow's 
 right! We grant it we grant it. Let the papers 
 be drawn forthwith!" 
 
 The baron bent before the storm and, bowing, 
 remained silent. Rebecca, however, could scarce see 
 the justice of the Queen's position. 
 
 "Well, but look here, your Majesty," she said. 
 "'Tain't Mr. Bacon as wants this patent; it's Mr. 
 Droop. Mr. Bacon only gave him a letter to Mr. 
 Burleigh here." 
 
 Astonishment was depicted in every face save in 
 that of the Queen, whose little eyes were now turned 
 upon her sister sovereign in anger. 
 
 "Harkye, Lady Rebecca!" she exclaimed. "Is it 
 the custom to take the Queen to task in your realm?" 
 
 Rebecca's reply came pat. The type was prepared 
 beforehand, and she answered now with a clear con 
 science. 
 
 "Why, of course. We talk jest as we feel like to 
 all the queens there is in my country." 
 
 The equivocation in this reply must have struck 
 300
 
 THE FATE OF SIR PERCEV ALL'S SUIT 
 
 the Queen, for she said, without taking her eyes 
 from Rebecca's face: 
 
 "And, prithee, Lady Rebecca, how many queens be 
 there in America? We begin to doubt if royalty be 
 known there." 
 
 Again Messer Guido evinced signs of an anxious 
 desire to speak, and Rebecca shrewdly took advan 
 tage of this at once. 
 
 "Messer Guido can tell you all 'bout that, I guess," 
 she said. 
 
 Elizabeth turned her eyes to the savant. 
 
 "What knowledge have you of this, learned doc 
 tor?" she asked, coldly. 
 
 "Why, your Majesty," said Guido, with delighted 
 zeal, "the case is plain. Will your Majesty but look 
 at this drawing on one of the inner pages of the 
 printed document brought by the Lady Rebecca? 
 Behold the effigy of a powder canister, with the 
 words 'Royal Baking Powder' thereon. This would 
 appear evidence that in America gunpowder is 
 known and is used by the sovereigns of the various 
 tribes. Here again we see 'The Royal Corset,' and 
 there 'Crown Shirts.' Can it be doubted that the 
 Americans have royal governors?" 
 
 The Queen's face cleared a little at this, and Guido 
 proceeded with increased animation: 
 
 "Behold further upon the front page, your Maj 
 esty, the effigy of a man wearing a round crown 
 with a peak or projecting shelf over the eyes. Un 
 der this we read the legend 'The Czar of the Tender- 
 
 301
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 loin.' Now, your Majesty will remember that the 
 ruler of Muscovy is termed the Czar. The Tender 
 loin signifieth, doubtless, some order, akin, per 
 chance, to the Garter." 
 
 "This hath a plausible bent, Messer Guido," said 
 Elizabeth, with more good-nature. "Lady Rebecca, 
 can you better explain this matter of the Czar?" 
 
 "No, indeed," Rebecca replied, with perfect truth, 
 blister Guido must have a fine mind to understand 
 things like that!" 
 
 "In sooth, good Messer Guido," said Elizabeth, 
 with a smile, "your research and power of logic do 
 you great credit. We doubt not to learn more of 
 these new empires from your learned pains than ever 
 from Raleigh, Drake, and the other travellers whose 
 dull wits go but to the surface of things. But, Lord 
 warrant us!" she continued, "here standeth our page, 
 having as yet no answer. Go, sirrah, and bid Sir 
 Percevall and this great American to our presence 
 straight." 
 
 Then, turning again to Guido, she said: 
 
 "Messer Guido, we enjoin it upon your learning 
 that you do make a note of the petition of this Amer 
 ican, as well as of those things which he may answer 
 in explanation of his design." 
 
 With a bow, Guido stepped to one side and, care 
 fully folding the newspaper, drew from his bosom 
 his tablets and prepared to obey. 
 
 All eyes turned curiously to the door as it opened 
 to admit the two suitors, who were followed by the 
 
 302
 
 THE FATE OF SIR PERCEV ALL'S SUIT 
 
 page. Sir Percevall, with plumed hat in one hand 
 and sword hilt in the other, advanced ponderously, 
 bowing low at every other step. Droop hurriedly 
 deposited his two boxes upon the floor and followed 
 his monitor, closely imitating his every step and gest 
 ure. Having no sword, he thought it best to put 
 his left hand into his bosom, an attitude which he 
 recollected in a picture of Daniel Webster. 
 
 The fat knight was about to kneel to kiss the royal 
 hand, but Elizabeth, smiling, detained him. 
 
 "Nay, nay!" she said. "You, Sir Percevall, have 
 paid your debt of homage in advance for a twelve 
 month. He who kisses the dust at our feet hath 
 knelt for ten." Then, turning to Droop, who was 
 down on both knees, with his hand still in his breast : 
 "What now!" she exclaimed. "Hath your hand suf 
 fered some mischance, Sir American, that you hide 
 it in your bosom?" 
 
 <r N"ot a mite not a mite!" Droop stuttered, 
 quickly extending the member in question, "^ay, 
 your Majesty in sooth, no my hand beeth all 
 right!" 
 
 "We learn from the Lord Treasurer," said Eliza 
 beth, addressing Sir Percevall, "that your petition 
 hath reference to a monopoly. Know you not, Sir 
 Knight, that these be parlous days for making of 
 new monopolies? Our subjects murmur, and 'tis said 
 that we have already been too generous with these 
 great gifts. Have you considered of this?" 
 
 liege," said Sir Percevall, "these things have 
 303
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 we considered. Nor would we tempt this awful Pres 
 ence with petitions looking to tax further the public 
 patience. But, please your Majesty, Master Droop, 
 my client here," indicating the still kneeling man 
 with a sweeping gesture, "hath brought into being 
 an instrument, or rather two instruments, of marvel 
 lous fashion and of powers strange. Of these your 
 Majesty's subjects have had hitherto no knowledge, 
 and it is in the making and selling of these within 
 this realm that we do here crave a right of monopoly 
 under the Great Seal." 
 
 "Excuse me, forsooth, your Majesty," Droop broke 
 in, "but would thou mind if I get up, my liege?" 
 
 "Nay, rise, rise, Master Droop!" exclaimed the 
 Queen, smothering a laugh. "We find matter for 
 favor in your sponsor's speech. Can you more fully 
 state the nature of this petition?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am your Majesty," said Droop, rising 
 and dusting off his knees. "I am the inventor of a 
 couple of things, forsooth, that are away ahead of the 
 age. Marry, yes! I call 'em a bicycle and a phono 
 graph." 
 
 "Well, did you ever!" murmured Rebecca, amazed 
 at this impudent claim to invention. 
 
 Messer Guido paused in his writing and began to 
 unfold his precious American newspaper, while 
 Droop went on, encouraged by the attentive curios 
 ity which he had evidently excited in the Queen. 
 
 "Now, the bicycle or the bike, fer short is a 
 kind of a wagon or vehycle, you wot. When you 
 
 304
 
 THE FATE OF SIR PERCEV ALL'S SUIT 
 
 mount on it, you can trundle yerself along like all 
 possessed " 
 
 "Gramercy!" broke in the Queen, in a tone of 
 irritation. "What have we here! We must have 
 plain English, Master Droop. American idioms are 
 unknown to us." 
 
 As Droop opened his mouth to reply, Guido 
 stepped forward with a great rustling of paper. 
 
 "May it please your Gracious Majesty " he pant 
 ed, eagerly. 
 
 "Speak, Messer Guido." 
 
 "I would fain question this gentleman, your Maj 
 esty, touching certain things contained herein." He 
 shook the paper at arm's length and glared at Droop, 
 who returned the look with a calm eye. 
 
 "You may proceed, sir," said Elizabeth. 
 
 "Why, Master Droop, you that are the inventor 
 of this same 'bicycle,' how explain you this?" 
 
 He thrust the paper under Droop's nose, pointing 
 to an advertisement therein. 
 
 "Here," he continued, "here have we a picture 
 bearing the legend, 'Baltimore Bicycle Buy No 
 Other' " He paused, but before Copernicus could 
 speak he went on breathlessly: "And look on this, 
 Master Droop see here here! Another drawing, 
 this time with the legend, 'Edison's Phonographs.' 
 How comes it that you have invented these things? 
 Can you invent on this 21st day of May, in the year 
 of our Lord 1598, what was here set forth as early 
 as as " he turned the paper back to the first page, 
 
 305
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "as early as April " he stopped, turned pale, and 
 choked. Droop looked mildly triumphant. 
 
 "Well well!" cried Elizabeth, "hast lost thy 
 voice, man?" 
 
 "My liege," murmured the bewildered savant, 
 "the date this document " 
 
 "Is dated in 1898," said Droop, solemnly. "This 
 here bike and phonograph won't be invented by any 
 one else for three hundred years yet." 
 
 Elizabeth frowned angrily and grasped the arms 
 of her chair in an access of wrath which, after a 
 pause, found vent in a torrent of words : 
 
 "Now, by God's death, my masters, you will find 
 it ill jesting in this presence! What in the fiend's 
 name! Think ye, Elizabeth of England may be 
 tricked and cozened made game of by a scurvy 
 Italian bookworm and a witless " 
 
 The adjectives and expletives which followed may 
 not be reported here. As the storm of words pro 
 gressed, growing more violent in its continuance, 
 Droop stood open-mouthed, not comprehending the 
 cause of this tirade. Of the others, but one pre 
 served his wits at this moment of danger. 
 
 Sir Percevall, well aware that the Queen's fury, 
 unless checked, would produce his and his client's 
 ruin, determined to divert this flood of emotion into 
 a new channel. With the insight of genius, the fat 
 knight realized that only a woman's curiosity could 
 avert a queen's rage, and with what speed he could 
 he stumbled backward to where Droop had left his 
 
 306
 
 THE FATE OF SIR PERCEVALL'S SUIT 
 
 exhibits. He lifted the box containing the phono 
 graph and, taking the instrument out, held it on 
 the palm of his huge left hand and bent his eyes upon 
 it in humble and resigned contemplation. 
 
 The quick roving eye of the angry Queen caught 
 sight of this queer assemblage of cogs, levers, and 
 cylinder, and for the first time her too-ready tongue 
 tripped. She looked away and recovered herself to 
 the end of the sentence. She could not resist an 
 other look, however, and this time her words came 
 more slowly. She paused wavered and then fixed 
 her gaze in silence upon the enigmatical device. 
 There was a unanimous smothered sigh as the by 
 standers recognized their good fortune. Guido, 
 frightened half to death, slipped unobserved out of 
 a side door, and was never seen at Greenwich again. 
 Nor has that fatal newspaper been heard from since. 
 
 "What may that be, Sir Percevall?" the Queen 
 inquired at length, settling back in her chair as com 
 fortably as her ruff would permit. 
 
 "This, my liege, is the phonograph," said the 
 knight, straightening himself proudly. 
 
 "An my Greek be not at fault," said the Queen, 
 "this name should purport a writer of sound." 
 
 Sir Percevall's face fell. He was no Greek scholar, 
 and this query pushed him hard. Fortunately for 
 him, Elizabeth turned to Droop as she concluded 
 her sentence. 
 
 "Hath your invention this intent, Master Droop?" 
 she said. 
 
 307
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Verily, I guess you've hit it I wot that's right!" 
 stammered the still frightened man. 
 
 A very audible murmur of admiration passed from 
 one to another of the assembled courtiers and ladies- 
 in-waiting. These expressions reached the ears of 
 the Queen, for whom they were indeed intended, 
 and the consciousness of her acumen restored Eliza 
 beth entirely to good-humor. 
 
 "The conceit is very novel, is it not, my lord?" 
 she said, turning to Baron Burleigh. 
 
 "Novel, indeed, and passing marvellous if achieved, 
 your Majesty," was the suave reply. 
 
 "How write you sounds with this device, Master 
 Droop?" she asked. 
 
 "Why, thusly, ma'am your Majesty," said Droop, 
 with renewed courage. "One speaketh, you wot 
 talketh-like into this hole this aperture." He 
 turned and pointed to the mouth-piece of the instru 
 ment, which was still in Sir Percevall's hands. "Hev- 
 in' done this, you wot, this little pin-like pricketh or 
 scratcheth the wax, an' the next time you go over 
 the thing, there you are!" 
 
 Conscious of the lameness of this explanation, 
 Droop hurried on, hoping to forestall further ques 
 tions. 
 
 "Let me show ye, my liege, how she works, in 
 sooth," he said, taking the phonograph from the 
 knight. Looking all about, he could see nothing at 
 hand whereon to conveniently rest the device. 
 
 "Marry, you wouldn't mind ef I was to set this 
 308
 
 THE FATE OF SIR PERCEV ALL'S SUIT 
 
 right here on your table, would ye, my liege?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Permission was graciously accorded, and, deposit 
 ing the phonograph, Droop hurried back to get his 
 records. Holding a wax cylinder in one hand, he 
 proceeded. 
 
 "Now, your Majesty can graciously gaze on this 
 wax cylinder," he said. "On here we hev scrawled 
 written a tune played by a cornet. It is 'Home, 
 Sweet Home.' Ye've heerd it, no doubt?" 
 
 "Nay, the title is not familiar," said the Queen, 
 looking about her. With one accord, the courtiers 
 shook their heads in corroboration. 
 
 "Is that so ? Well, well ! Why, every boy and 
 gal in America knows that tune well!" said Droop. 
 
 He adjusted the cylinder and a small brass mega 
 phone, and, having wound the motor, pressed the 
 starting-button. Almost at once a stentorian voice 
 rang through the apartment: 
 
 "Home, Sweet Home Cornet Solo By Signer 
 Paolo Morituri Edison Record." 
 
 The sudden voice, issuing from the dead revolving 
 cylinder, was so unexpected and startling that several 
 of the ladies screamed and at least one gentleman 
 pensioner put his hand to his sword-hilt. Elizabeth 
 herself started bolt upright and turned pale under 
 her rouge as she clutched the arms of her chair. Be 
 fore she could express her feelings the cornet solo 
 began, and the entire audience gradually resumed its 
 wonted serenity before the close of the air. 
 
 309
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "Marvellous beyond telling!" exclaimed Elizabeth, 
 in delight. "Why, this contrivance of yours, Master 
 Droop, shall make your name and fortune through 
 out our realm. Have you many such ingenious gen 
 tlemen in your kingdom, Lady Rebecca?" 
 
 "Oh, dear me, yes!" said Rebecca, somewhat con 
 temptuously. "Copernicus Droop ain't nobody in 
 America." 
 
 Droop glanced reproachfully at his compatriot, 
 but concluded not to give expression to his feelings. 
 Accordingly, he very quickly substituted another 
 cylinder, and turned again to the Queen. 
 
 "Now, your Majesty," said he, "here's a comic 
 monologue. I tell you, verily, it's a side-splitter!" 
 
 "What may a side-splitter be, Master Droop?" 
 
 "Why, in sooth, somethin' almighty funny, you 
 know make a feller laugh, you wot." 
 
 Elizabeth nodded and, with a smile of anticipation, 
 which was copied by all present, prepared to be 
 amused. 
 
 Alas! The monologue was an account of how a 
 farmer got the best of a bunco steerer in ISTew York 
 City, and was delivered in the esoteric dialect of the 
 Bowery. It was not long before willing smiles gave 
 place to long-drawn faces of comic bewilder 
 ment, and, although Copernicus set his best exam 
 ple by artificial grins and pretended inward laugh 
 ter, he could evoke naught but silence and bored 
 looks. 
 
 "Marry, sir," said Elizabeth, when the monologue 
 310
 
 THE FATE OF SIR PERCEVALL'S SUIT 
 
 was at an end, "this needs be some speech of an 
 American empire other than that you come from. 
 Could you make aught of it, Lady Rebecca?" 
 
 "Nothin' on airth!" was the reply. "Only a word 
 now an' then about a farmer an' somethin' about 
 hayseed." 
 
 "Now, here's a reg'lar bird!" said Droop, hastily, 
 as he put in a new cylinder. 
 
 "Can you thus record e'en the voices of fowls?" 
 said the Queen, with renewed interest. 
 
 Hopeless of explaining, Droop bowed and touched 
 the starting-button. The announcement came at 
 once. 
 
 "Liberty Bells March Edison Record," and after 
 a few preliminary flourishes, a large brass band could 
 be heard in full career. 
 
 This proved far more pleasing to the Queen and 
 her suite. 
 
 "So God mend us, a merry tune and full of har 
 mony!" said the Queen. 
 
 "But that ain't all, your Majesty," said Droop. 
 "Here's a blank cylinder, now." He adjusted it as 
 he spoke and unceremoniously pushed the instrument 
 close to the Queen. "Here," he said, "jest you talk 
 anythin' you want to in there and you'll see suthin' 
 funny, I'll bet ye !" He was thoroughly warmed to 
 his work now, and the little court etiquette which 
 he had acquired dropped from him entirely. 
 
 The Queen's eager interest had been so aroused 
 that she was unconscious of his too familiar manner. 
 
 311
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Leaning over the phonograph as Droop started the 
 motor, she looked about her and said, with a titter: 
 "What shall we say? Weighty words should grace 
 so great an occasion, my lords." 
 
 "Oh, say the Declaration of Independence or the 
 'Charge of the Light Brigade'!" Droop exclaimed. 
 "Any o' them things in the school-books!" 
 
 Elizabeth saw that the empty cylinder was passing 
 uselessly and wasted no time in discussion, but began 
 to declaim some verses of Horace. 
 
 "M m m " exclaimed Droop, doubtfully. "I 
 don't know as this phonograph will work on Latin 
 an' Greek!" 
 
 The Queen completed her quotation and, sitting 
 back again in her chair: 
 
 "Now, Master Droop, we have done our part," she 
 said. 
 
 Droop readjusted the repeating diaphragm and 
 started the motor once more. There were two or 
 three squeaks and then an affected little chuckle. 
 
 "What shall we say?" it began. "Weighty words 
 should grace so great an occasion, my lords." 
 
 Elizabeth laughed a little hysterically to hear her 
 unstudied phrase repeated, and then, with a look of 
 awe, listened to the repetition of the verses she had 
 recited. 
 
 "Can any voice be so repeated?" she asked, seri 
 ously, when this record was completed. 
 
 "Anyone ye please any ye please!" said the de 
 lighted promoter, visions of uncounted wealth danc- 
 
 312
 
 THE FATE OF SIR PERCEVALL'S SUIT 
 
 ing in his head. "Now, here's a few words was 
 spoken on a cylinder jest two or three weeks ago 
 by Miss Wise," he continued, hunting through his 
 stock of records. "Ah, here it is! It's all 'bout 
 Mister Bacon I daresay you know him." The 
 Queen looked a little stern at this. "Tells all 'bout 
 him, I believe. I ferget jest what it said, but we 
 can soon see." 
 
 The cylinder was that before which Phoebe had 
 read an extract from the volume on Bacon's sup 
 posed parentage and his writings while she was at the 
 North Pole. Little did Droop conceive what a train 
 he was unconsciously lighting as he adjusted the 
 cylinder in place. As he said, he had forgotten the 
 exact purport of the extract in question, but, even 
 had he recollected it, he would probably have so little 
 understood its terrific import that his course would 
 have been the same. Ignorant of his danger, he 
 pushed the starting-button and looked pleasantly at 
 the Queen, whose dislike of anything having to do 
 with Francis Bacon had already brought a frown to 
 her face. 
 
 All too exactly the fateful mechanism ground out 
 the very words and voice of Phoebe : 
 
 "It is thus made clear from the indubitable evi 
 dence of the plays themselves, that Francis Bacon 
 wrote the immortal works falsely ascribed to William 
 Shakespeare, and that the gigantic genius of this man 
 was the result of the possession of royal blood. In 
 
 313
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 this unacknowledged son of Elizabeth Tudor, Queen 
 of England, was made manifest to all countries and 
 for all centuries the glorious powers inherent in the 
 regal blood of England." 
 
 As the fearful meaning of these words was devel 
 oped by the machine, amazement gave place to con 
 sternation in those present and consternation to ab 
 ject terror. Each fear-palsied courtier looked with 
 pale face to right and left as though to seek escape. 
 The fat knight, hitherto all complacency, listening 
 to this brazen traducer of the Queen's virgin honor, 
 seemed to shrink within himself, and his very cloth 
 ing hung loose upon him. 
 
 Droop and Rebecca, ignorant of the true bearing 
 of the spoken words, gazed in amazement from one 
 to another until, glancing at the Queen, their eyes 
 remained fixed and fascinated. 
 
 The unthinkable insult implied in the words re 
 peated was trebled in force by being spoken thus 
 publicly and in calm accents to her very face. She 
 the daughter of Henry the Eighth; she Eliza 
 beth of England the Virgin Queen to be thus 
 coolly proclaimed the mother of this upstart bar 
 rister! 
 
 As a cyclone approaches, silent and terrific, visible 
 only in the swift swirling changes of a livid and 
 blackened sky, so the fatal passion in that imperial 
 bosom was known at first only in the gleaming of her 
 black eyes beneath contorted brows and the spas- 
 
 314
 
 THE FATE OF SIR PERCEV ALL'S SUIT 
 
 modic changes that swept over the pale red-painted 
 face. 
 
 The danger thus portended was clear even to the 
 bewildered Droop, and, before the instrument had 
 said its say, he began to slip very quietly toward the 
 door. 
 
 As the speech ended, Elizabeth emitted a growl 
 that grew into a shriek of fury, and, with her hair 
 actually rising on her head, she threw herself bodily 
 upon the offending phonograph. 
 
 In her two hands she raised the instrument above 
 her, and with a maniac's force hurled it full at the 
 head of Copernicus Droop. 
 
 Instinctively he dodged, and the mass of wood and 
 steel crashed against the door of the chamber, burst 
 ing it open and causing the two guards without to 
 fall back. 
 
 Droop saw his chance and took it. Turning, with 
 a yell he dashed past the guards and across the ante 
 chamber to the main entrance-hall. The Queen, 
 choked with passion, could only gasp and point her 
 hand frantically after the fleeing man, but at once 
 her gentlemen, drawing their swords, rushed in a 
 body from the room with cries of "Treason treason! 
 Stop him! Catch him!" 
 
 Down the main hallway and out into the silent 
 court-yard Droop fled on the wings of fear, pursued 
 by a shouting throng, growing every moment larger. 
 
 As he emerged into the yard a sentry tried to 
 stop him, but, with a single side spring, the Yankee 
 
 315
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 eluded this danger and flung himself upon his bicycle, 
 which he found leaning against the palace wall. 
 
 "Close the gates! Trap him!" was the cry, and 
 the ponderous iron gates swung together with a clang. 
 But just one second before they closed, the narrow 
 bicycle, with its terror-stricken burden, slipped 
 through into the street beyond and turned sharply 
 to the west, gaining speed every instant. Droop had 
 escaped for the moment, and now bent every effort 
 upon reaching the Pan^chronicon in safety. 
 
 Then, as the tumult of futile chase faded into si 
 lence behind the straining fugitive, there might have 
 been seen whirling through the ancient streets of 
 London a weird and wondrous vision. 
 
 Perched on a whirl of spokes gleaming in the moon 
 light, a lean black figure in rumpled hose, with flying 
 cloak, slipped ghostlike through the narrow streets 
 at incredible speed. Many a footpad or belated 
 townsman, warned by the mystic tinkle of a spectral 
 bell, had turned with a start, to faint or run at sight 
 of this uncanny traveller. 
 
 His hat was gone and his close-cropped head bent 
 low over the handle-bars. The skin-tight stockings 
 had split from thigh to heel, mud flew from the tires, 
 beplastering the luckless figure from nape to waist, 
 and still, without pause, he pushed onward, ever on 
 ward, for London Bridge, for Southwark, and for 
 safety. The way was tortuous, dark and unfamiliar, 
 but it was for life or death, and Copernicus Droop 
 was game. 
 
 316
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 HOW EEBECCA KETUKNED TO NEWINGTON 
 
 Within the palace all was confusion and dismay. 
 Only a very few knew the cause of this riot which 
 had burst so suddenly upon the wonted peace of the 
 place, and those few never in all their lives gave ut 
 terance to what they had learned. 
 
 Within the presence chamber Elizabeth lay on the 
 floor in a swoon, surrounded by her women only. 
 Among these was Rebecca, whose one thought was 
 now to devise some plan for overtaking Droop. From 
 the window she had witnessed his flight, and she had 
 guessed his destination. She felt sure that if Droop 
 reached the Panchronicon alone, he would depart 
 alone, and then what was to become of Phoebe and 
 herself? 
 
 Just as the Queen's eyes were opening and her 
 face began to show a return of her passion with recol 
 lection of its cause, Rebecca had an inspiration, and 
 with the promptitude of a desperate resolution, she 
 acted upon it. 
 
 "Look a-here, your Majesty!" she said, vigorously, 
 "let me speak alone with you a minute and I'll save 
 you a lot of trouble. I know where that man keeps 
 more of them machines." 
 
 317
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 This was a new idea to Elizabeth, who had de 
 stroyed, as she supposed, the only existing specimen 
 of the malignant instrument. 
 
 With a gesture she sent her attendants to the op 
 posite end of the room. 
 
 "Now speak, woman! What would you counsel?" 
 she said. 
 
 "Why, this," said Rebecca, hurriedly. "You don't 
 want any more o' them things talkin' all over Lon 
 don, I'm sure." 
 
 A groan that was half a growl broke from the 
 sorely tried sovereign. 
 
 "Of course you don't. Well I told you him and 
 I come from America together. I know where he 
 keeps all his phonograph things, and I know how to 
 get there. But you must be quick or else he'll get 
 there fust and take 'em away." 
 
 "You speak truly, Lady Rebecca," said the Queen. 
 "How would you go by what conveyance? Will 
 you have horses men-at-arms?" 
 
 tc No, indeed!" was the reply. "Jest let me hev a 
 swift boat, with plenty o' men to row it, so 's to go 
 real fast. Then I'll want a carryall or a buggy in 
 Southwark " 
 
 "A carryall a buggy!" Elizabeth broke in. 
 "What may these be?" 
 
 "Oh, any kind of a carriage, you know, 'cause I'll 
 hev to ride some distance into the country." 
 
 "But why such haste?" asked the Queen. "Had 
 this American a horse?" 
 
 318
 
 HOW REBECCA RETURNED TO NEWINGTON 
 
 "He had a bicycle an' that's wuss," said Rebecca. 
 "But ef I can start right away and take a short cut 
 by the river while he finds his way through all them 
 dirty, dark streets, I'll get there fust an' get the rest 
 of his phonographs." 
 
 "Your wit is nimble and methinks most sound," 
 said the Queen, decisively. Then, turning to the 
 group of ladies, she continued: 
 
 "Send us our chamberlain, my Lady Temple, and 
 delay not, we charge you!" 
 
 In ten minutes Rebecca found herself once more 
 upon the dark, still river, watching the slippery 
 writhings of the moonbeams' path. She was alone, 
 save for the ten stalwart rowers and two officers ; but 
 in one hand was her faithful umbrella, while in the 
 other she felt the welcome weight of her precious 
 satchel. 
 
 The barge cut its way swiftly up the river in 
 silence save for the occasional exclamations of the 
 officers urging the willing oarsmen to their utmost 
 speed. 
 
 Far ahead to the right the huge bulk of the Tower 
 of London loomed in clumsy power against the deep 
 dark blue of the moonlit sky. Rebecca knew that 
 London Bridge lay not far beyond that landmark, 
 although it was as yet invisible. For London Bridge 
 she was bound, and it seemed to her impatience that 
 the lumbering vessel would never reach that goal. 
 
 She stood up and strained her eyes through the 
 darkness, trying to see the laboring forms of the 
 
 319
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 rowers in the shadow of the boat's side, but only the 
 creak of the thole-pins and the steady recurrent 
 splash and tinkle from the dripping oars told of their 
 labor. 
 
 "Air ye goin' as fast as ye can?" she called. "Mr. 
 Droop'll get there fust ef ye ain't real spry." 
 
 "If spry be active, mistress," said a voice from 
 the darkness aft, "then should you find naught here 
 amiss. Right lusty workers, these, I promise you! 
 Roundly, men, and a shilling each if we do win the 
 race!" 
 
 "Ay ay, sir!" came the willing response, and Re 
 becca, satisfied that they could do no more, seated 
 herself again, to wait as best she might. 
 
 At length, to her great delight, there arose from 
 the darkness ahead an uneven line of denser black, 
 and at a warning from one of the officers the boat 
 proceeded more cautiously. Rebecca's heart beat 
 high as they passed under one of the low stone arches 
 of the famous bridge and their strokes resounded in 
 ringing echoes from every side. 
 
 Having passed to the upper side of the bridge, the 
 boat was headed for the south shore, and in a few 
 moments Rebecca saw that they had reached the side 
 of a wooden wharf which stood a little higher than 
 their deck. One of the officers leaped ashore with 
 the end of a rope in his hand, and quickly secured 
 the vessel. As he did so a faint light was seen pro 
 ceeding toward them, and they heard the steps of a 
 half dozen men advancing on the sounding planks. 
 
 320
 
 HOW REBECCA RETURNED TO NEWINGTON 
 
 It was the watch, and the light shone from a prim 
 itive lantern with sides of horn scraped thin. 
 
 "Who goes there?" cried a gruff voice. 
 
 "The Queen's barge in the service of her Maj 
 esty," was the reply. 
 
 The watchman who carried the lantern satisfied 
 himself that this account was correct, and then asked 
 if he could be of service. 
 
 "Tell me, fellow," said he who had landed, "hast 
 seen one pass the bridge to-night astride of two 
 wheels, one before the other, riding post-haste?" 
 
 There was a long pause as the watchman sought 
 to comprehend this extraordinary question. 
 
 "Come come!" cried the officer, who had re 
 mained on the boat. "Canst not say yes or no, man?" 
 
 "Ay, can I, master!" was the reply. "But you had 
 as well ask had I seen a witch riding across the moon 
 on a broomstick. We have no been asleep to dream 
 of flying wheels." 
 
 "Well well!" said he who had landed. "Go you 
 now straight and stand at the bridge head. We shall 
 follow anon." 
 
 The watch moved slowly away and Rebecca was 
 helped ashore by the last speaker. 
 
 "Our speed hath brought us hither in advance, 
 my lady," he said. "Now shall we doubtless come 
 in before the fugitive." 
 
 "Well, I hope so!" said Rebecca. Then, with a 
 smothered cry: "Oh, Land o' Goshen! I've dropped 
 my umbrella!" 
 
 321
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 They stooped together and groped about on the 
 wharf in silence for a few moments. The landing 
 was encumbered with lumber and stones for build 
 ing, and, as the moon was just then covered by a 
 thick cloud, the search was difficult. 
 
 "I declare, ain't this provokin'!" Kebecca cried, 
 at length. 
 
 "These beams and blocks impede us," said the offi 
 cer. "We must have light, perforce. Ho there! 
 The watch, ho! Bring your Ian thorn!" 
 
 "Why, 'tain't worth while to trouble the watch 
 man," said Eebecca. "I'll jest strike a light my 
 self." 
 
 She fumbled in her satchel and found a card of 
 old-fashioned silent country matches, well tipped 
 with odorous sulphur. The officer at her side saw 
 nothing of her movements, and his first knowledge 
 of her intention was the sudden and mysterious ap 
 pearance of a bluish flame close beside him and the 
 tingle of burning brimstone in his nostrils. 
 
 With a wild yell, he leaped into the air and then, 
 half crazed by fear, tumbled into the boat and cut 
 the mooring-rope with his sword. 
 
 "Cast off cast off!" he screamed. "Give way, 
 lads, in God's name ! A witch a witch! Cast off!" 
 
 A gentle breeze off the shore carried the sulphur 
 ous fumes directly over the boat, and these, together 
 with their officer's terror-stricken tones and the sight 
 of that uncanny, sourceless light, struck the crew 
 with panic. Fiercely and in sad confusion did they 
 
 322
 
 HOW REBECCA RETURNED TO NEWINGTON 
 
 push and pull with boat-hook and oar to escape from 
 that unhallowed vicinity, and, even after they were 
 well out in the stream, it was with the frenzy of 
 superstitious horror that they bent their stout backs 
 to their oars and glided swiftly down stream toward 
 Greenwich. 
 
 As for Rebecca comprehending nothing of the 
 cause of this commotion at first she stood with open 
 mouth, immovable as a statue, watching the depart 
 ure of her escort until the flame reached her fingers. 
 Then, with a little shriek of pain, she flicked the 
 burnt wood into the river. 
 
 "Well, if I ever!" she exclaimed. "I'm blest ef 
 I don't b'lieve those ninnies was scared at a match!" 
 
 Shaking her head, she broke a second match from 
 her card, struck it, and when it burned clear, stooped 
 to seek her umbrella. It was lying between two 
 beams almost at her feet, and she grasped it thank 
 fully just as her light was blown out by the breeze. 
 
 Then, with groping feet, she made her way care 
 fully toward the inshore end of the wharf, and soon 
 found herself in the streets of Southwark, between 
 London Bridge and the pillory. From this point she 
 knew her way to the grove where the Panchronicon 
 had landed, and thither she now turned a resolute 
 face, walking as swiftly as she dared by the light of 
 the now unobscured moon. 
 
 "If Copernicus Droop ketches up with me," she 
 muttered, "I'll make him stop ef I hev to poke my 
 umbrella in his spokes." 
 
 323
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 HOW SIB GUY KEPT HIS TEYST 
 
 For one hour before sunset of that same day 
 Phoebe had been patiently waiting alone behind the 
 east wall of the inn garden. As she had expected, 
 her step-mother had accompanied her father to Lon 
 don that afternoon, and she found herself free for 
 the time of their watchfulness. She did not know 
 that this apparent carelessness was based upon knowl 
 edge of another surveillance more strict and secret, 
 and therefore more effective than their own. 
 
 The shadow of the wall within which she was 
 standing lengthened more and more rapidly, until, 
 as the sun touched the western horizon, the whole 
 countryside to the east was obscured. 
 
 Phrebe moved out into the middle of the road 
 which ran parallel to the garden wall and looked 
 longingly toward the north. A few rods away, the 
 road curved to the right between apple-trees whose 
 blossoms gleamed more pink with the touch of the 
 setting sun. 
 
 "Nothing no one yet!" she murmured. "Oh, 
 Guy, if not for love, could you not haste for life!" 
 
 As though in answer to her exclamation, there 
 came to her ears a faint tapping of horses' hoofs, and 
 
 324
 
 HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST 
 
 a few moments later three horsemen turned the cor 
 ner and bore down upon her. 
 
 One glance was enough to show her that Guy was 
 not one of the group, and Phoebe leaped back into 
 the shadow of the wall. She felt that she must not 
 be seen watching here alone by anyone. As she stood 
 beneath the fringe of trees that stood outside of the 
 garden wall, she looked about for means of better 
 concealment, and quickly noticed a narrow slit in the 
 high brick enclosure, just wide enough for a man to 
 enter. It had been barred with iron, but two of the 
 bars had fallen from their sockets, leaving an aper 
 ture which looked large enough to admit a slender 
 girl. 
 
 Phosbe felt instinctively that the approaching 
 riders were unfriendly in their purpose and, without 
 pausing to weigh reasons, she quickly scrambled 
 through this accidental passage, not without tearing 
 her dress. 
 
 She found herself within the garden and not far 
 from the very seat where she had hidden from Will 
 Shakespeare. How different her situation now, she 
 thought. Not diffidence, but fear, was now her 
 motive fear for the man she loved and whom she 
 alone could save. 
 
 While she listened there, half choked by the beat 
 ing of her own heart, she heard the three cavaliers 
 beyond the wall. Their horses were walking now, 
 and the three conversed together in easily audible 
 tones. 
 
 325
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 "My life on it, Will," said one, " 'twas here the 
 wench took cover!" 
 
 "Thine eyes are dusty, Jack," replied a deep voice. 
 " 'Twas farther on, was it not, Harry?" 
 
 The horses stopped. 
 
 "Ay you are i' the right, Will," was the answer. 
 "By the same token, how could the lass be here and 
 we not see her? There's naught to hide a cat withal." 
 
 "Nay nay!" said Will. "Count upon it, Jack, 
 the maid fled beyond the turn yonder. Come on, 
 lads!" 
 
 "I'll not stir hence !" said Jack, obstinately. "Who 
 finds the girl, catches the traitor, too. Go you two 
 farther, an ye will. Jack Bartley seeks here." 
 
 "Let it be e'en so, Will," said Harry, the third 
 speaker. "Dismount we here, you and me. Jack 
 shall tie the nags to yon tree and seek where he will. 
 Do you and I creep onward afoot. So shall the maid, 
 hearing no footfall, be caught unaware." 
 
 "Have it so!" said Will. 
 
 Phoebe heard the three dismount and, trembling 
 with apprehension, listened anxiously for knowledge 
 of what she dared not seek to see. 
 
 She heard the slow walk of the three horses, short 
 ly interrupted, and she knew that they were being 
 tethered. Then there was a murmur of voices and 
 silence. 
 
 This was the most agonizing moment of that event 
 ful night for Phoebe. Strain her ears as she might, 
 naught could she hear but the shake of a bridle, the 
 
 326
 
 HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST 
 
 stamp of an occasional hoof, and the cropping of 
 grass. The next few seconds seemed an hour of 
 miserable uncertainty and suspense. She knew now 
 that she was watched, that perhaps her plans were 
 fully known, and all hope for her lover seemed past. 
 She had called him hither and he would walk alone 
 and unaided into the arms of these three merce 
 naries. 
 
 She clasped her hands and looked desperately 
 about her as though for inspiration. To the right 
 an open sward led the eye to the out-buildings sur 
 rounding the inn. To the left a dense thicket of 
 trees and bushes shut in the view. 
 
 Suddenly she started violently. Her ear had 
 caught the snapping of a twig close at hand, beyond 
 the concealing wall. At the next moment she saw 
 a stealthy hand slip past the opening by which she 
 had entered, and the top of a man's hat appeared. 
 
 Like a rabbit that runs to cover, she turned noise 
 lessly and dashed into the friendly thicket. Here 
 she stopped with her hand on her heart and glanced 
 wildly about her. Well she knew that her conceal 
 ment here could be but momentary. Where next 
 could she find shelter? 
 
 A heap of refuse, stones and dirt, leaves and sticks, 
 was heaped against that portion of the wall, and at 
 sight of this a desperate plan crossed her mind. 
 
 "'Tis that or nothing!" she whispered, and, still 
 under cover of the shrubbery, she hurried toward the 
 rubbish heap. 
 
 327
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 In the meantime, Jack, whose quick eye had de 
 scried that ancient opening in the wall, perceived by 
 neither of his companions, was standing just within 
 the wall gazing about for some clue to his prey's 
 location. 
 
 Phoebe leaped upon the refuse heap and scrambled 
 to the top. To her dismay, there was a great crash 
 ing of dead wood as she sank nearly to her knees in 
 the accumulated rubbish. 
 
 Jack uttered a loud exclamation of triumph and 
 leaped toward the thicket. Poor Phoebe heard his 
 cry, and for an instant all seemed hopeless. But 
 hers was a brave young soul, and, far from fainting 
 in her despair, a new vigor possessed her. 
 
 Grasping the limb of a tree beside her, she drew 
 herself up until, with one foot she found a firm rest 
 on the top of the wall. Then, forgetting her tender 
 hands and limbs, straining, gripping, and scrambling, 
 she knew not how, she flung herself over the wall 
 and fell in a bruised and ragged heap on the grass 
 beyond. 
 
 When her pursuer reached the thicket, he was con 
 founded to find no one in sight. 
 
 Phoebe lay for one moment faint and relaxed upon 
 the ground. The landscape turned to swimming sil 
 houettes before her eyes, and all sounds were mo 
 mentarily stilled. Then life came surging back in 
 a welcome tide and she rose unsteadily to her feet. 
 She walked as quickly as she could to where the three 
 horses stood loosely tied by their bridles to a tree. 
 
 328
 
 HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST 
 
 At any moment the man she feared might appear 
 again at the opening in the wall. 
 
 She untied all three horses and, choosing a power 
 ful gray for her own, she slipped his bridle over her 
 arm so as to leave both hands free. Then, bringing 
 together the bridles of the other two, she tied them 
 together in a double knot, then doubled that, and 
 struck the two animals sharply with the bridle of 
 the gray. Naturally they started off in different di 
 rections, and, pulling at their bridles, dragged them 
 into harder knots than her weak fingers could have 
 tied. 
 
 She laughed in the triumph of her ingenuity and 
 scrambled with foot and knee and hand into place 
 astride of the remaining steed. Thus in the seclu 
 sion of the pasture had she often ridden her mare 
 Nancy home to the barn. 
 
 There was a shout of anger and amazement from 
 the road, and she saw the two men who had elected 
 to walk farther on running toward her. 
 
 Turning her steed, she slapped his neck with the 
 bridle and chopped at his flanks with the stirrups 
 as best she could. The horse broke into an easy 
 canter, and for the moment she was free. 
 
 Unfortunately, Phoebe found herself virtually 
 without means for urging her steed to his best pace. 
 Accustomed as he was to the efficient severity of a 
 man's spurred heel, he paid little attention to her 
 gentle, though urgent, voice, and even the stirrups 
 were hardly available substitutes for spurs, since her 
 
 329
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 feet could not reach them and she could only kick 
 them flapping back against the horse's sides. 
 
 Her one chance was that she might meet Sir Guy 
 in time, and she could only pray that the knots in 
 the bridles of the remaining horses would long defy 
 every effort to release them. As she turned the 
 curve among the apple-trees, she looked back and 
 saw that the horses had been caught and that all 
 three men were frantically tugging and picking with 
 fingers and teeth at those obstinate knots. 
 
 Phrebe drew up for a moment a few yards beyond 
 the curve and broke off a long, slender switch from 
 an overhanging bough. Then, urging the horse for 
 ward again, she picked off the small branches until 
 at length she had produced a smooth, pliant switch, 
 far more effective than bridle or stirrup. By the 
 help of this new whip, she made a little better speed, 
 but well she knew that her capture was only a matter 
 of time unless she could find her lover. 
 
 Great was her joy, therefore, when she turned the 
 next curve in the road; for, straight ahead, not twen 
 ty rods away, she saw Sir Guy approaching at a 
 canter, leading a second horse. 
 
 By this time the twilight was deepening, and the 
 young cavalier gazed in astonishment upon the ragged 
 girl riding toward him astride, making silent gest 
 ures of welcome and warning. Not until he was 
 within twenty yards of her did Sir Guy recognize his 
 sweetheart. 
 
 "Mary!" he cried. 
 
 330
 
 HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST 
 
 Together they reined in their horses, and instantly 
 Phoebe slipped to the ground. 
 
 "Quick, Guy quick!" she exclaimed. "Help me 
 to mount yon saddle. Come come!" 
 
 Leaping at once from his horse, Sir Guy lifted 
 Phoebe to the back of the beast he had been leading, 
 which was provided with a side-saddle, the stirrup 
 of which carried a spur. Stopping only to kiss her 
 hand, he mounted his own steed, turned about, and 
 followed Phoebe, who had already set off at her best 
 speed. Even as they started, they heard a shout 
 behind them, and Phoebe knew that the pursuit had 
 begun in earnest. 
 
 "What is it who are they whom you flee?" asked 
 the young knight, as he came to Phoebe's side. 
 
 "Men seeking thee, Guy for reward! There is 
 a price on thy head, dear. For high treason! Oh, 
 may God aid us this night!" 
 
 "High treason!" he exclaimed. Then, after a 
 pause, he continued, in a stern voice: 
 
 "How many be they?" 
 
 "Two." 
 
 Sir Guy laughed in evident relief. 
 
 "But two ! By my troth, why should we fear them, 
 sweetheart ?" he said. "An I be not a match for four 
 of these scurvy rascals, call me not knight!" 
 
 "Alas alas!" cried Phoebe, in alarm, as she saw 
 Sir Guy slacken his pace. "Stay not to fight, Guy. 
 Urge on urge on! The whole countryside is 
 awake. How, then, canst thou better thee by 
 
 331
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 fighting two? Nay, on on !" and she spurred again, 
 beckoning him after with an imperious hand. 
 
 He yielded to her reasoning, and soon reached her 
 side again. 
 
 "We must to London Bridge, Guy," Phoebe said. 
 "Know you a way back thither?" 
 
 "Wherefore to London, sweet?" asked Guy. 
 "Were we not safer far afield? Why seek the shad 
 ow of the Tower?" 
 
 "One way is left thee," said she, with intense ear 
 nestness. "A way that is known to me alone. There 
 by only canst thou escape. Oh, trust me trust me, 
 dear heart! Only I can guide thee to safety and 
 to freedom!" 
 
 "On, my Mary !" he cried, gayly. "Lead on ! Thou 
 art my star!" 
 
 For the moment both forgot the danger behind 
 them. The intoxication of an ideal and self-forget 
 ting trust a merger of all else in tenderness flood 
 ed their souls and passed back and forth between 
 them in their mutual glances. 
 
 Then came that pursuing shout again, much nearer 
 than before, and with a shock ths two lovers re 
 membered their true plight. 
 
 Sir Guy reined in his steed. 
 
 "Halt halt, Mary!" he commanded. "We must 
 conceal us here in this dell till that these fellows 
 pass us. Then back to London by the way we came. 
 There is no other road." 
 
 Obedient now in her turn, Phrebe drew rein and 
 332
 
 HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST 
 
 followed her lover up the bed of a small stream 
 which crossed the road at this point. Behind a cur 
 tain of trees they waited, and ere long saw their two 
 pursuers dart past them and disappear in a cloud of 
 dust down the road. 
 
 "They will stop at the next dwelling to ask news 
 of us, and thus learn of our evasion," said Guy. "The 
 chase has but begun. Come, sweet, let us hasten 
 southward again." 
 
 Darkness had now begun to fall in earnest, and 
 as the two fugitives passed the Peacock Inn, no one 
 saw them. 
 
 They were soon near enough to the city gate to 
 find many houses on either hand, and Sir Guy deemed 
 it wiser to move at a reasonable pace, for fear of at 
 tracting suspicion in a neighborhood already aroused 
 by rumors of the man-hunt which had begun. They 
 could count upon the obscurity to conceal their iden 
 tity. 
 
 They had not proceeded far beyond the inn when 
 they met a party of travellers on horseback, one of 
 whom uttered a pleasant "Good-even!" 
 
 "Good-even!" said Phrebe, thinking only of due 
 courtesy. 
 
 "What the good jere!" cried a voice from the rear 
 of the group. "What dost thou here, Poll?" 
 
 "My father!" exclaimed Phoebe, in terror. 
 
 "Hush!" whispered Sir Guy, putting his hand upon 
 her bridle. "Ride forward at an easy gait until I 
 give example of haste." 
 
 333
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 They trotted quietly past the greater number of 
 the group until a dark figure approached and a voice 
 in the gloom said, severely: 
 
 "What dost thou here? "Who rides with thee, 
 lass?" 
 
 Sir Guy now leaned forward and spurred his horse, 
 leaping away into the darkness without a word. In 
 equal silence Phoebe followed his example and gal 
 loped headlong close behind her lover. 
 
 "Help, ho !" yelled old Sir Isaac. " 'Tis the traitor 
 Fenton, with my daughter ! After them stop them 
 a Burton a Burton!" and, mad with excitement, 
 the angry father set off in hot pursuit. With one 
 accord the others wheeled about and joined in the 
 chase, uttering cries and imprecations that rang 
 through the country for a mile around. 
 
 "ISTow have we need of speed!" said Sir Guy, as 
 they galloped together toward London, whose walls 
 were now visible in the distance. "Soon will the 
 whole country join the hue-and-cry. The watch will 
 meet us at the gate." 
 
 " 'Twere better, were it not," Phoebe suggested, 
 "that we turn to the left and make a circuit into the 
 Aldersgate?" 
 
 "Good wit, my lady!" cried Guy, whose excitement 
 had taken on the form of an exalted gayety. "Who 
 rides with thee rides safe, my love e'en as Theseus 
 of old did ride, scathless 'neath the spell of protect 
 ing Pallas!" 
 
 "Stuff!" said Phoebe, spurring again, with a smile. 
 334
 
 HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST 
 
 Guy led the way at once across country to the east 
 ward, the soft English turf so deadening their hoof- 
 beats that those behind them had no clue to their 
 change of route. 
 
 When the pursuing party reached the Bishopsgate, 
 they met the watch and learned that no one had 
 passed since the hue-and-cry was heard. 
 
 "Here divide we, then," cried stout Sir Isaac 
 Burton. "Let eight follow them around the wall, 
 while I with other six ride on, that, if haply they 
 have entered London by the Aldersgate, we may 
 meet them within the city." 
 
 The suggestion was adopted, and, all unconscious 
 of their peril, the lovers were rapidly hemmed in 
 between two bands of pursuers. Sir Guy and Phoebe 
 reached the Aldersgate unmolested and were allowed 
 to pass in without protest, as the hue-and-cry had 
 not yet reached so far. They ambled quietly past 
 the watch, arousing no suspicion, but no sooner had 
 they turned the first corner than once more they 
 urged their tired horses to greater exertion. 
 
 "Choose we the side streets," said Guy. "Who 
 knows what watch hath been set on Gracechurch 
 Street. 'Tis for London Bridge we are bound, is't 
 not?" 
 
 "Yes," said Phrebe. "I pray no prying watch de 
 tain us ere we pass that way!" 
 
 Picking their way through the dark and narrow 
 streets at a pace necessarily much reduced, they slow 
 ly approached their goal, until at length, on emerg- 
 
 335
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 ing into New Fish Street, they discerned the tower 
 ing walls of London Bridge. 
 
 Here they reined in suddenly with one accord, for, 
 plainly visible in the moonlight, a group of horse 
 men was gathered and there was borne to their ears 
 the sturdy voice of Sir Isaac. 
 
 "Hallo!" he cried. "There be riders in New Fish 
 Street. See where they lurk in the shadow ! What 
 ho, there! Give a name! Stand forth there!" 
 
 Sir Guy drew his sword. 
 
 " "Tis time for steel to answer!" he laughed. 
 
 "Nay nay! Wait wait!" said Phoebe, earnest 
 ly. "There must be other issue than in blood!" 
 
 Two or three horsemen now detached themselves 
 from the group near the bridge and cantered up New 
 Fish Street. Sir Isaac was among them. 
 
 "Are ye there, traitor?" he cried. "Where is my 
 daughter?" 
 
 Sir Guy was about to reply when Phcebe put her 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 "Hush!" she whispered. "Hearken!" 
 
 Faint at first, but growing momentarily louder, 
 there came the clear trilling of a mysterious bell. 
 It floated out from the dark by-ways whence they 
 had themselves just emerged, and something eerie 
 and uncanny in its clamor brought a thrill of 
 terror to the young knight's nerves for the first 
 time. 
 
 "Now, what in God's name " he began. 
 
 But he broke off in horror, for there flashed past 
 336
 
 HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST 
 
 him, as silent as the wind and swifter, a dark, bent 
 figure, with flying cloak, under which, as the moon 
 light struck him, there whirled a web of glittering 
 tissue whereon he seemed to ride. That uncanny 
 tinkling floated back from this strange vision, con 
 firming to the ear what otherwise might have ap 
 peared a mere trick of the vision. 
 
 As for Sir Isaac and his band, the distant bell had 
 early brought them to a wondering stand; and now, 
 as this rushing phantom trilling trilling trilling 
 swept down on a living moonbeam, with one ac 
 cord they put spurs to their steeds, and with cries 
 of horror fled in all directions. 
 
 "Forward!" cried Phoebe, exultantly. "Why, what 
 now!" she exclaimed, as she saw her lover still sitting 
 petrified with fear. "How now, my knight! Why 
 sit you here amazed? Is not the way clear? Come 
 follow follow!" and she started forward on a 
 trot. 
 
 But her lover did not move, and she was obliged 
 to turn back. Laying her hand on his arm: 
 
 "Why, what ails thee, dear heart?" she asked. 
 
 "The spectre the ghostly steed!" he stammered. 
 
 "Oh oh!" laughed Phoebe. "Why, this was but 
 some venturous bicyclist on his wheel!" 
 
 "A bicyclist !" exclaimed Sir Guy. "Can you thus 
 give a name to this black phantom, Mary?" 
 
 "'Tis naught, dear Guy, believe me!" she said. 
 Then, in pleading tones, she continued: "Didst not 
 agree to trust thy lady, dear?" 
 
 337
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 The young knight passed his hand over his eyes 
 and straightened himself resolutely in his saddle. 
 
 "E'en to the death, love. Lead on! I shall not 
 falter!" 
 
 They trotted forward through a now silent street 
 to the bridge, and soon found themselves enveloped 
 in the darkness and assailed by the countless odors 
 of London Bridge. From time to time they crossed 
 a path of moonlight, and here Phoebe would smile 
 into the eyes of her still much-puzzled lover and mur 
 mur words of encouragement. 
 
 Before they reached Southwark, there rang out 
 behind them the sound of hoofs upon the stones of 
 the bridge. 
 
 "Can these be your father's minions, think you?" 
 said Sir Guy. 
 
 "Nay!" Phoebe exclaimed. "Rest assured, they 
 were scattered too far to dog our steps again to 
 night. 
 
 They emerged some moments later on the South 
 wark side and saw the pillory towering ahead of them. 
 
 "How far shall we fare to-night, love?" asked the 
 knight. 
 
 "To Kewington on horseback," Phoebe replied, 
 "and then well, then shalt thou see more faring." 
 
 There was a loud cry from the bridge, startling 
 the pair from their fancied security. 
 
 "There they ride! The watch, ho! Stop the 
 traitor! Stop him! For the Queen! For the 
 Queen!" 
 
 338
 
 HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST 
 
 "God help us!" cried Phoebe. " 'Tis the two yeo 
 men of the Peacock Inn!" 
 
 With one accord the pair clapped spurs to their 
 horses' sides and resumed once more the flight which 
 they had thought concluded. 
 
 339
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 EEBECCA'S TBUMP CARD 
 
 When Rebecca set out for the Panchronicon from 
 London Bridge, she knew that she had a long walk 
 in prospect, and settled down to the work with 
 dogged resolution. Her trip was quite uneventful 
 until she neared the village of Newington, and then 
 she realized for the first time that she did not know 
 exactly where to find the deserted grove. One grove 
 looked much like another, and how was she to choose 
 between garden walls "as like as two peas," as she 
 expressed it? 
 
 "Look here, Rebecca Wise," she said, aloud, as 
 she paused in the middle of the road, "you'll be lost 
 next you know!" 
 
 She looked about dubiously and shook her head. 
 
 "The thing fer you to do is to set right down an' 
 wait fer that pesky good-fer-nothin' Copernicus 
 Droop!" she remarked, and suiting action to speech 
 she picked her way to a convenient mile-stone and 
 seated herself. 
 
 Having nothing better to do, she began to review 
 mentally the events of the last two days, and as she 
 recalled one after the other the unprecedented ad- 
 
 340
 
 REBECCA'S TRUMP CARD 
 
 ventures which had overtaken her, she wondered in 
 a dreamy way what would next befall. She built 
 hazy hypotheses, sitting there alone in the moonlight, 
 nodding contentedly. Suddenly she straightened up, 
 realizing that she had been aroused from a doze by 
 a cry near at hand. 
 
 Turning toward London, she saw a wriggling mass 
 about fifty feet away which, by a process of slow 
 disentanglement, gradually developed into a man's 
 form rising from the ground and raising a fallen 
 bicycle. 
 
 "Darn the luck!" said this dark figure. "Busted 
 my tire, sure as shootin'!" 
 
 "Copernicus Droop!" cried Rebecca, in a loud 
 voice. 
 
 Droop jumped high in the air, so great was his 
 nervousness. Then, realizing that it was Rebecca 
 who had addressed him, he limped toward her, roll 
 ing his bicycle beside him. 
 
 "How in creation did you get here?" he asked. 
 "Ain't any steam-cars 'round here, is there?" 
 
 "Guess not!" Rebecca replied. "I come by short 
 cut up river. I guessed you'd make fer the Pan- 
 chronicle, and I jest made up my mind to come, too. 
 Thinks I, 'that Copernicus Droop ud be jest mean 
 enough to fly away all by himself an' leave me an' 
 Phoebe to shift fer ourselves.' So I'm here to go, 
 too an' what's more, we've got to take Phoebe!" 
 
 "How'll ye find yer sister, Cousin Rebecca?" said 
 Droop. "We must git out to-night. When the 
 
 341
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 Queen gets on her ear like that, it's now or never. 
 Can you find Cousin Phoebe to-night?" 
 
 "Where is the old machine, anyhow?" Rebecca 
 asked, not heeding Droop's question. 
 
 "Right over yonder," said he, pointing to a dark 
 group of trees a few rods distant. 
 
 "Well, come on, then. Let's go to it right away," 
 said Rebecca. "I'd like to rest a bit. I'm tired!" 
 
 "Tired!" Droop exclaimed. "What about me, 
 then?" 
 
 Without further parley, the two set off toward 
 the grove which Droop had indicated. Having dwelt 
 here for several weeks, he knew his bearings well, 
 but it was not until they came much nearer to the 
 deserted mansion that Rebecca recognized several 
 landmarks which convinced her that he had made 
 no mistake. 
 
 Under the trees, the shadows were so black that 
 they were unable to find the breach in the wall. 
 
 "Got any matches, Cousin Rebecca?" Droop asked. 
 
 "Yes. Wait a minute an' I'll strike a light. I 
 know that blessed hole is somewhere right near here." 
 
 She found again her card of matches, and breaking 
 off one of them, soon had a tiny taper which lit up 
 their surroundings wonderfully. 
 
 "There 'tis! I've found it," cried Droop, and, 
 taking Rebecca by the arm, he led her toward the 
 broken place in the wall. The match went out just 
 as they reached it. 
 
 Droop was about to suggest that he go in first to 
 342
 
 REBECCA'S TRUMP CARD 
 
 see if all was well, when he was startled by Rebecca's 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 "Hark!" she cried. 
 
 He listened and distant cries coming nearer 
 through the night were borne to his ears. 
 
 "What's that?" Rebecca exclaimed again. 
 
 Rigid with excitement and dread, they stood there 
 listening. At length Droop pulled himself free of 
 Rebecca's hold. 
 
 "That's some o' them palace folks chasm' after 
 me!" he cried, in a panic. 
 
 "Fiddle-dee-dee!" Rebecca exclaimed, with energy. 
 "How should they know where you are?" 
 
 By this time the sounds were more distinct, and 
 they could easily make out cries of: "Traitor! Stop 
 him! For the Queen! Stop him!" 
 
 The two listeners had just mentally concluded that 
 this alarm did not in any wise concern them when 
 Rebecca was startled beyond measure to hear her 
 sister Phosbe's voice, loud above all other sounds. 
 
 "Nay nay, Guy!" she was screaming. "Stop not 
 to fight! Fly follow! Shelter is here at hand!" 
 
 Forgetting everything but possible danger for 
 Phoebe, Rebecca dashed out from under the trees. 
 
 There in the moonlight she saw Phoebe on horse 
 back, her head uncovered, her hair floating free and 
 her clothing in tatters. A few paces behind her was 
 Sir Guy, also mounted, fiercely attacking two pur 
 suing horsemen with his sword. Farther back, ren 
 dered indistinct by distance, was a larger group of 
 
 343
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 mingled horse and foot travellers. There was a lan 
 tern among them, and Rebecca inferred that the 
 watch was with them. 
 
 A moment later, one of the two men engaged with 
 Sir Guy fell from his horse. Instantly the young 
 knight turned upon the second pursuer, who fled at 
 once toward the larger group now rapidly approach 
 ing. 
 
 Rebecca ran forward and waved her card of 
 matches frantically, apparently thinking in her ex 
 citement that she held a flag. 
 
 "Here, Phoebe here, child!" she screamed. "This 
 way, quick! Here we are awaitin' fer ye. Come, 
 quick quick!" 
 
 With a loud cry of joy, Phoebe slipped from her 
 horse and ran toward her sister. 
 
 "Oh, Rebecca, Rebecca!" she cried, throwing her 
 self into her sister's arms. "Oh, you dear, lovely, 
 sweet old darling!" 
 
 Rebecca kissed her younger sister with tears in 
 her eyes, almost as affected as the girl herself, who 
 was now laughing and crying hysterically on her 
 breast. 
 
 While they stood thus tightly locked in each 
 other's arms, Guy came to their side with sword in 
 hand. 
 
 "Quick!" he said, sharply. "You must away to 
 shelter. Here comes the watch apace. I will pro 
 tect the rear." 
 
 The two women started apart and Phoebe set for- 
 344
 
 REBECCA'S TRUMP CARD 
 
 ward obediently, but Rebecca only gave the fast- 
 approaching crowd a look of proud contempt. 
 
 "Fiddle-ends!" she exclaimed. "You go on ahead, 
 Guy. I'll fix them queer folks!" 
 
 Whether Rebecca's voice convinced him of her 
 power to make good her words or that he felt his 
 first duty was at Phrebe's side, the fact is that the 
 young knight strode forward with his sweetheart 
 toward the breach in the wall, leaving Rebecca be 
 hind to bear the first attack. 
 
 Droop had already passed within the enclosure 
 and was groping his way toward the black mass of 
 the Panchronicon. 
 
 Phcebe, led by an accurate memory of her sur 
 roundings, had but little difficulty in finding the 
 opening, and, by her voice, Sir Guy and Rebecca 
 were guided to it. 
 
 Phoebe passed through first and Sir Guy followed 
 just as the advance guard of the pursuing mob rushed 
 under the trees, swinging their two lanterns and 
 shouting aloud: 
 
 "Here this way! We have 'em fast!" 
 
 Rebecca coolly stooped and drew the edge of her 
 entire card of matches across a stone at her feet. 
 Then, standing erect, she thrust the sulphurous blue 
 blaze into the faces of two rough-looking fellows just 
 advancing to seize her. 
 
 Sir Guy, who stood within the wall, found cause 
 for deep amazement in the yell of startled fear with 
 which Rebecca's act was met; and deeper yet grew 
 
 345
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 his astonishment when that cry was re-echoed by the 
 whole terror-stricken mob, who turned as one man 
 to flee from this flaming, sulphurous sorceress. 
 
 Rebecca quietly waited until the sulphur had 
 burned off and the wood blazed bright and clear. 
 Then she pushed through the broken wall and showed 
 the way to their destination by the light of the small 
 torch. 
 
 Sir Guy's feelings may be imagined when he sud 
 denly found that they were all four standing before 
 a strangely formed structure in the side of which 
 Copernicus had just opened a door. 
 
 "Why, Mary !" he exclaimed, pausing in his walk. 
 "What have we here?" 
 
 She took his hand with a smile and drew him gent 
 ly forward. 
 
 "Trust thy Mary yet further, Guy," she said. 
 "Thy watchword must be, 'Trust and question not.* ' 
 
 He smiled in reply and, sheathing his sword, 
 stepped boldly forward into the interior of the Pan- 
 chronicon. Phoebe knew the power of superstition 
 in that age, and she glowed with pride and tender 
 ness, conscious that in this act of faith in her the 
 knight evinced more courage than ever he might 
 need to bear him well in battle. 
 
 When the electric lights shed a sudden bright 
 glare down the spiral staircase, Sir Guy cowered and 
 stopped .short again, turning pale with a fear irre 
 pressible. But Phoebe put one arm about his neck 
 and drew his head down to hers, whispering in his 
 
 346
 
 REBECCA'S TRUMP CARD 
 
 ear. What she said none heard save him, but the 
 spell of her words was potent, for the young knight 
 stood erect once more and firmly ascended to the 
 room above. 
 
 Droop stood nervously waiting at the engine-room 
 door. 
 
 "Are ye all in?" he said, sharply. "Where's 
 Cousin Rebecca?" 
 
 "Here I be!" came a voice from below. "I'm jest 
 lockin' the door tight." 
 
 "Well, hurry up hurry! Come up here an' lay 
 down. I'm goin' to start." 
 
 In a few moments all was in readiness. Droop 
 pulled the lever, and with a roar and a mighty bound 
 the Panchronicon, revived by its long period of wait 
 ing, sped upward into the night. 
 
 As the four fugitives sat upright again, and Droop, 
 rubbing his hands with satisfaction, was about to 
 speak, the door of one of the bedchambers was 
 opened, and a stranger dressed in nineteenth-century 
 attire stepped forward, shading his blinking eyes with 
 his hand. 
 
 The two women screamed, but Droop only dropped 
 amazed into a chair. 
 
 "Francis Bacon!" he exclaimed. 
 
 Then, leaping forward eagerly, he cried aloud: 
 
 "Gimme them clothes!" 
 
 Of the return trip of the five, little need be said 
 save to record one untoward incident which has been 
 
 347
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 the occasion of a most unfortunate historic contro 
 versy. 
 
 The date-recording instrument must have been de 
 ranged in some way, for when, after a great number 
 of eastward turns around the pole, it marked the 
 year 1898, they had really only reached 1857. Sup 
 posing themselves to have actually reached the year 
 erroneously indicated by the recorder, they set off 
 southward and made a first landing in Hartford, 
 Connecticut. 
 
 Here they discovered their mistake, and returned 
 to the pole to complete their journey in time. All 
 but Francis Bacon. He declared that so much whirl 
 ing made him giddy, and remained in Connecticut. 
 Alas! Had Phoebe known the result of this deser 
 tion, she would never have consented to it. 
 
 Bacon, who had read much of Shakespeare while 
 in the Panchronicon, found on returning thus acci 
 dentally to modern America, that this playwright 
 was esteemed the first and greatest of poets and 
 dramatists by the modern world. Then and there 
 he planned a conspiracy to rob the greatest charac 
 ter in literary history of his just fame; and, under 
 the pseudonym of "Delia Bacon," advanced those 
 theories of his own concealed authorship which have 
 ever since deluded the uncritical and disgusted all 
 lovers of common-sense and of justice. 
 
 Copernicus Droop, on returning his three remain 
 ing passengers to their proper dates and addresses, 
 discovered that his sole remaining phonograph, with 
 
 348
 
 REBECCA'S TRUMP CARD 
 
 certain valuable records of Elizabethan origin, had 
 disappeared. As he owed a grudge to Francis Bacon, 
 that worthy fell at once under suspicion, and accord 
 ingly Droop promptly returned to 1857, sought out 
 the deserter, and charged him with having stolen 
 these instruments. 
 
 It was not until the accused man had indignantly 
 denied all knowledge of Droop's property that the 
 crestfallen Yankee recollected that he had left the 
 apparatus in question in the deserted mansion of 
 Newington, where he had stored it for greater safety 
 after Bacon's first unexpected visit. 
 
 Without hesitation, he determined to return to 
 1598 and reclaim his own. Bacon, who had learned 
 from modern historical works of the brilliant future 
 in store for himself in England, begged Droop to 
 take him back; and as an atonement for his unjust 
 accusation, Droop consented. 
 
 It is not generally known that, contrary to com 
 mon report, Francis Bacon was not arrested for debt 
 in 1598; but that, during the time he was supposed 
 to have been in prison, he was actually engaged in 
 building up in his own behalf the greatest hoax in 
 history. 
 
 Let those who may be inclined to discredit this 
 scrupulously authentic chronicle proceed forthwith 
 to Peltonville, New Hampshire, and there ask for 
 Mr. and Mrs. Guy Fenton. From them will be 
 gained complete corroboration of this history, not 
 
 349
 
 THE PANCHRONICON 
 
 only in the account which they will give of their own 
 past adventures, but in the unmistakable Elizabethan 
 flavor distinguishable to this day in their speech and 
 manner. Indeed, the single fact that both ale and 
 beer are to be found behind their wood-pile should 
 be convincing evidence on this point. 
 
 As for Rebecca, fully convinced at last of the mar 
 vellous qualities of the Panchronicon, she never tires 
 of taking her little nephew, Isaac Burton Wise Fen- 
 ton, on her knee and telling him of her amazing ad 
 ventures in the palace of <c Miss Tudor." 
 
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